


sweet child of mine

by icoulddothisallday



Series: where do we go now [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alpha Bucky Barnes, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Canon Disabled Character, Cerebral Palsy, Child with Disabilities, Complicated Relationships, Disabled Character, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Mpreg, Implied/Reference Premature Birth, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Kid Fic, M/M, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Omega Steve Rogers, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Physical Disability, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Reunions, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Teenage Pregnancy, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Unreliable Narrator, implied/referenced male breastfeeding, internalized ableism, parenting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-05-10 06:33:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 42,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14731767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icoulddothisallday/pseuds/icoulddothisallday
Summary: It had been nine years since Bucky had last seen Steve Rogers. Nine years and he’d mostly lost hope of ever finding his friend again. All he had to hold on was that last night, the scent of Steve’s pre-heat and the warmth of his body. Until Steve abruptly reappears in New York, eight-year-old daughter in tow.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Posts weekly on Wednesday evenings. 
> 
> Title from Guns n' Roses song of the same name.

Bucky’s pouring over a new set of calculations when there’s a knock on his open doorway. With a sigh, he turns around. His shoulders relax a little when he recognizes Pepper’s scent and then her familiar, willowy form. Pepper has a relatively mild scent, for an alpha, but it’s distinct nonetheless — citrus and cedar, and Bucky can smell Tony’s scent on her too. 

“Hello James,” she greets with a smile. “Do you have a moment?”

“Of course,” he says, getting up to start clearing a pile of paper off one of the chairs in his pseudo-office. As one of the youngest engineers at Stark Industries, Bucky’s been furnished with a tiny office that Bucky’s pretty sure used to be used as a storage room. Tony had offered much more lavish accommodations, but Bucky’s presence was already causing enough grumblings. The small office cuts down on resentment, though there are still plenty of grumblings that Bucky only got this job because of his relationship with Stark. 

Personal visits from the CEO don’t really help Bucky’s case. 

But the truth of it is that while Bucky did meet Pepper and Tony after his accident and that because of his regular check-ups they knew when he graduated from Columbia, Bucky had to submit his resume to the board just like everyone else. Pepper and Tony hadn’t had any say in whether he was hired or not. 

“Don’t worry about it. I was just wondering if you would be willing to work with the Graphic Design team on the campaign for the Stark Prosthetic? We need a tech expert to help with those aspects, but your personal experience would also be useful.”

Bucky bites his lip and tugs on his left sleeve, hearing the whir of his arm — the constant background noise to his life since his accident. 

“It’s alright if you don’t feel comfortable,” Pepper says sympathetically. “But I wanted to ask you before going to anyone else.”

It’s been nearly six years, Bucky tells himself. He doesn’t even think about his arm most days — it’s just a part of his life. And he is uniquely qualified to talk about the realities of having this kind of prosthetic — he knew how it could change somebody’s life. It had certainly given him a new lease on life — even the very first design, shitty and glitchy as it had been, had given him more back than he could have imagined. 

“Yeah, alright,” he agrees. 

Pepper brightness up. “Oh, I’m so glad! But do let me know if it gets to be too much, won’t you?” 

“Of course,” Bucky says, though he’s not sure that’s an agreement he’ll be good at following through with. 

“I’m putting one of our fellows on it — a really talented young man, so you’ll be working with someone your own age.” 

“That’ll be a nice change,” Bucky says with a grin, only partially joking. Most of the other scientists are at least twice his age. Pepper smiles back — she and Tony are older than Bucky by a good decade and a half too. The last time Bucky worked closely with someone his own age was in school. 

“Yes, I quite agree. If you have a minute, I can introduce you two now and you can figure out a time in your schedules that would work for collaborating — the graphic design department is on a different schedule than the R&D team  .”

Bucky nods, glancing down at his desk. He had been in the middle of puttering through some new calculations for the motor in the prosthetic legs, but it’s nothing that can’t wait. “Sure, yeah I have some time now.” He ruffles through his desk, finding the folder with the most recent specs and diagrams of prototypes. 

“Great!” Pepper says brightly, gesturing him out the door. She waits until the elevator doors to ask, “How have you been doing, James?”

“Can’t complain,” he says easily. “How are you? Tony? I haven’t seen him around in a while.”

She waves her hand, rolling her eyes already. “Oh, he’s got some new idea for the production of nanobots of some sort. He and Bruce have been holed up in his lab for the last two weeks trying to figure the details out. They’ve only caused one minor explosion, so I’ve kept out of it.”

Bucky perks up, “Oh! Cool — what are they thinking about for hardware, do you know? Because the real problem is —”

Pepper shoots him a friendly glare. “I really don’t know the technical details, James, but I’ll let Tony know you’re interested.” 

Bucky flushes, rubbing the back of neck sheepishly. Pepper’s smart as a whip, but James know that she doesn’t have the patience for all the little engineering details. There’s a reason she’s the CEO and Tony’s head of R&D. 

Finally, the elevator descends to the marketing department. R&D is on the topmost public floors, closest to the penthouse where Tony and Pepper live. The marketing department, on the other hand, is down on the sixth floor. It’s a crowded place, full of the noise and scents of the alphas, betas, and omegas that work there. Like most professions outside of nursing and childcare, there aren’t many omegas, and their sweet scents are notable around the room. 

One, in particular makes Bucky lift his head, taking a deep inhale. It smells almost like — but it can’t be. He shakes his head. Every time he smells an omega, some part of him falls back to his teenage years, to that one night. Bucky tucks his free hand into his pocket, tightening his fingers on the folder, and refocuses, following Pepper through the open floor plan to a quiet set of rooms in the northeast corner of the building. 

Pepper knocks on the open doorway. Inhaling, Bucky frowns. That scent is stronger now, and so familiar. Apples, leather and wood shavings from a pencil, all intertwining with the honeyed scent of an omega. It was once as familiar to him as the scent of his family. It  _ can’t  _ be though. After all this time, what would the odds be?

But as he turns, a welcoming smile on his face, Bucky drops the folder he’s been carrying. He’d recognize that face anywhere. 

“Steve?” he gasps. 

Because it is, unmistakably, Steve Rogers, Bucky’s childhood best friend. They’d met when Steve was just five, tiny and frail. Bucky, six and big for his age, had been hiding from some bullies in the copse of trees that lined their playground. There he’d found Steve, drawing in the dirt. Bucky had asked what he was drawing and that was it, they were friends for life. 

Steve had moved away when he was sixteen. His mother — Bucky’s second mother or as good as — had died after a long and brutal battle with breast cancer that had left Steve solemn and old beyond his years. The foster system had placed him in an Omega Home in D.C. because of antiquated laws about where minor omegas could live. 

They had said they’d stay in touch. They’d promised the would send letters and exchange phone calls. And they had, for almost four months. And then — nothing. Steve had stopped taking Bucky’s calls. Letters went unanswered. 

That had been eight years ago and Bucky had mostly resigned himself to never seeing Steve again. 

And now, here he is, looking exactly the same, with the same crooked nose (a fight when they were fifteen that had ended with Steve’s nose broken and Bucky getting four stitches), stubborn jaw, and soft mouth. That last night, before Steve was ripped away from him, Bucky had finally gotten the courage to kiss him the way he’d wanted to since he was thirteen. 

“Bucky?” Steve’s eyes go wide, his mouth gapes open. 

Pepper glances between the two of them. “Do you two know each other?”

Bucky’s throat refuses to work for a moment, before he finally manages, “Uh, yeah. Yeah, Steve and I grew up together — but it’s been a while.” 

Pepper meets his eyes, quirking one eyebrow with unspoken concern. She’ll call the whole thing off, Bucky knows, and will make it seem like it’s because of her, not him. But Bucky has missed Steve with a fierce ache that never subsided. To have him come back into his life like this — it’s what he always wished for. 

He’s angry and he hurts — he can’t think of a single thing that would make him stop talking to Steve, so he doesn’t understand what could have made Steve lose contact — but for half his life Steve and he were practically attached at the hip. Bucky’s only just stopped looking for him when he hears a particularly bad pun or sees an interesting piece of art. He’s not going to give up the opportunity to have Steve back, and to figure out what happened, all those years ago. 

“It’s good to see you,” Bucky croaks in Steve’s direction. “You look well.”

And he really, really does — healthier than Bucky’s ever seen him. There’s a thick smattering of freckles on his nose and cheeks like he’s been spending a lot of time outside. Steve’s still slim, but he looks less like one stiff wind would blow him over. He’s wearing a pair of dark-rimmed glasses that frame the sharp angles of his face, and the neat blue button-down he’s wearing highlights his tiny waist. He looks  _ so _ good. 

“Yeah,” Steve says and his voice is exactly the same, deep and rough and steady.“Yeah, you too.”

They can’t stop staring at each other. Bucky wants to just come out and ask. But he doesn’t. Now isn’t the time or place. 

“Well then, I guess I don’t need to make any introductions,” Pepper says, managing to keep her voice professional and upbeat, a skill that Bucky suddenly envies. “Steve, James is the engineer I mentioned you might be working with on the prosthetics project.”

Steve nods. He’s moved his gaze away from Bucky now, and his eyes are firmly fixed on Pepper. 

“James is one of the lead engineers on the project and as I mentioned to you earlier he has personal experience with the prosthetics project, as he has one of the prototypes.”

Steve’s eyes swing immediately back to Bucky, going wide again. Bucky winces. The prosthetic is obvious enough and everyone Bucky works with knows he has a Stark prosthetic. It’s not private. It’s just — well. It’s a complicated thing, and Steve and he have a complicated past. 

Bucky puts a polite smile and slips his hand out of his pocket. He quickly rolls up his sleeves, showing it off. He’s well used to this. But Steve isn’t looking at the prosthetic, he’s staring at Bucky with a familiar sort of panic. 

There had been amputees in Mrs. Roger’s oncology ward, Bucky remembers with a start, people who’d had limbs removed due to bone cancer. Quickly, he reassures, “I’m alright. It was an...accident. I’m fine.”

Steve’s shoulders slump with visible relief. For months after Mrs. Rogers’ diagnosis, Steve had seen cancer in everyone and everything. That’s not something you ever completely get over, Bucky figures, losing a parent that way. Hell,  _ Bucky’s  _ still more likely to jump to  _ cancer  _ when receiving bad news. 

Pepper glances between them again, obviously reading that there’s something more going on than what’s being said, but not prying. Bucky’s suddenly glad Tony’s not around for this entire event. He’d push and pry in every corner of this awkwardness and Bucky doesn’t need that. 

“I’ll leave the two of you to figure out a time to meet to work on this project. I’ll send you both some prospective deadlines. Keep me in the loop, please,” Pepper says and then promptly steps out of the room. 

Steve and Bucky both notice the folder lying on the ground at the same time, and suddenly they’re both crouched on either side of it, shuffling papers back into place. 

Their eyes meet. This close, Bucky can see Steve’s bright blue eyes behind his glasses and smell a subtle change to Steve’s scent — something warm and homey, and something that smells a bit like Bucky. 

Bucky shakes his head, looking away. He’s imagining things. It’s been eight years, there’s no way Steve smells like Bucky. He always  _ used  _ to, because they basically lived on top of each other, but that would’ve faded within a week of Steve leaving. 

“Bucky,” Steve says softly. His voice is familiar, bringing back a hundred memories all at once. 

Bucky stands up abruptly, needing to put distance between them. He  _ wants  _ to push in close and bury his nose in Steve’s neck and maybe bundle him off to Bucky’s apartment, but that sort of behavior is completely unacceptable. Steve finishes putting the folder back together and then stands up, holding it out for Bucky. Reaching out, Bucky takes it, not quite meeting Steve’s eyes. 

The awkward quiet stretches out over several long moments before finally, Steve clears his throat. “It’s nice to see you again,” he says, voice cautious. 

Bucky looks up, meeting Steve’s eyes again. “Yes, you too. Um — maybe we could get together sometime? Outside of work? To catch up.”

Steve hesitates, his lips twisting to the side in the way they always did when he was worried about something. 

“It’s alright if you don’t want to,” Bucky rushes to assure, though it’s like a slap in the face to even offer. 

“I do,” Steve rushes to say. “I’m just...I’m pretty busy. But — let me look at my schedule and get back to you?” Steve offers and Bucky nods but tries not to get his hopes up. “Uh, here, why don’t you put your number in my phone…” Steve trails off, turning towards his desk. Unlike Bucky’s desk, everything is stacked neatly and organized meticulously, which isn’t how Bucky remembers Steve being at all. 

Steve quickly produces his phone and hands it over with a new contact already opened. Bucky quickly enters his info and hands the phone back over. 

“I’ll just text you,” Steve mutters, tapping at his phone, and a moment later Bucky feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. 

“Great,” Bucky says with a careful smile. “Just let me know when works for you.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. “Yeah, that would be nice.” Steve glances up a shy sort of smile on his face. Bucky’s heart skips a beat. God, but Steve’s still so fucking gorgeous and smells so good, the way he always did. And how is it that eight years and the worst heartbreak of his life and Steve still makes Bucky’s stomach fill with butterflies?

“Yeah,” Bucky adds, softly. “Um — I guess we should find some time to work on this too. Pepper mentioned that we would have to figure out the scheduling ourselves.” 

Steve’s eyebrow goes up at the use of Pepper’s first name, but he doesn’t comment on it. 

“I work weird hours,” Steve explains. “I’m only in the office 9 to 2, and then I work the rest of the day from home.” Bucky’s brow furrows — those  _ are  _ strange hours. And they’re going to be difficult for Bucky to manage because those are the hours when Bucky has most of his team meetings. 

“Would you mind doing it over lunch?” Bucky asks, mentally running through his schedule. 

“No, that would be fine,” Steve says easily, walking over to his desk. He pulls up his calendar. “What day would work best for you?”

They go over schedules, but honestly, most of it goes in one ear and out the other. Bucky’s too caught up watching Steve and breathing in the scent of him.

When Bucky eventually wanders back up to his office, he has to sit down for a long moment. He can’t completely process that after all this time Steve has fallen back into his life. He can’t stop thinking about Steve’s slim hips and tiny waist, can’t stop remembering the heady and oh so familiar scent of him. 

*

“I think I’m still in love with him,” Bucky moans to Natasha that night, sprawled on the couch. 

“You’re being ridiculous,” she says firmly, from her position in the kitchen. Natasha and Bucky share a cramped two-bedroom in Hell’s Kitchen. They both work for Stark and make more than is really reasonable, but New York rent is no joke. “You haven’t seen him in eight years. You don’t know anything about who he is now.”

“Not to mention he totally fucked you up,” Clint says, from where he’s laying upside-down on their overstuffed armchair. Clint and Nat have this weird no-one-admits-they’re-dating-and-monogamous thing that’s been going on for as long as Bucky has known them and Clint practically lives in their apartment, though he still  _ technically  _ lives in his apartment in Bed-Stuy. 

Bucky shrugs uncomfortably, not wanting to admit the truth in either of those statements. 

“I’m not saying don’t get to know him,” Natasha says, scooping curry onto plates. Bucky sits up as she comes into the living room, setting the plates down on their coffee table. “But just remember it’s been a long time. He doesn’t know you and  you don’t know him.”

Bucky screws up his face, nodding. He knows she’s right. It’s just... “He smells exactly the same,” he admits softly. “It takes me right back…” Bucky trails off, remembering. 

Steve had been in pre-heat, uncomfortable and snappish, not to mention the fact that he was about to move to live with a bunch of strangers hundreds of miles from home. Bucky’s ma had attempted to convince CPS to let Steve ride out his heat at their house, but with no success. 

Bucky had felt on the verge of tears all night, wanting nothing more than to stay glued to Steve’s side, to somehow stop the inevitable. Bucky’s parents had taken his sisters out, giving Steve and Bucky some privacy to say goodbye. 

For over an hour, they just sat next to each other on Bucky’s bed, shoulders pressed together. Bucky can still remember the way Steve’s body was fever warm next to him, how the sticky sweet smell of Steve’s pre-heat had filled the room. 

To this day, Bucky couldn’t tell you which of them turned first, or how exactly they found themselves kissing. It was both of their first times, awkward, uncoordinated, and over too quick. But they’d been knotted together, afterwards. They’d been quiet at first, pressing kisses to each other’s lips, and then Steve had started to shake. 

It was the only time Bucky had seen him cry since he’d tearfully shared the news of Sarah’s cancer diagnosis two years prior. 

Shaking his head to clear it, Bucky tries to refocus on the conversation. Natasha and Clint are right — for all that Bucky and Steve were once best friends, it had been eight years. People changed in much less time than that — some days Bucky felt like he’d been five different people between then and now. 

So he’ll try to forget the way their bodies fit perfectly, the itching in his jaw that begged for him to bite down and claim Steve, ensuring that he’d never leave. That’s all in the past — for now, Bucky just needs to hope that they can be friends again, that in some way Bucky will have Steve in his life. That matters more than what it looks like in particular, really. 

At least, that’s what Bucky’s telling himself. 

*

Bucky and Steve schedule their first lunch meeting for Thursday, and Bucky spends all week anticipating it. He finds himself checking his phone all too often, in hope that Steve will get in touch about getting together outside of work, but no such luck. 

By the time Thursday rolls around, Bucky wonders if Steve agreed to get together just to be polite. He had seemed hesitant about it — maybe whatever caused Steve to disappear in the first place is still an issue. Maybe Steve’s just being polite because Pepper asked them to work together. It’s with those thoughts in his head that Bucky takes the elevator down to the sixth floor. 

Steve doesn’t have his own office, but rather shares a big space with a couple other graphic designers. But given that it’s lunchtime, the floor is pretty deserted, most people taking advantage of the lingering summer weather and Stark Towers’ central location to get out and about. 

Bucky approaches from behind Steve. He keeps expecting Steve to turn around, but he doesn’t. Automatically, Bucky moves so he’s on Steve’s good side and calls his name. Steve starts a little and looks up. He smiles when he sees Bucky, spontaneous and easy and something eases in Bucky’s gut. 

“Sorry,” Steve says, lifting his right hand to fiddle with his hearing aid. “I had it turned off earlier.”

“Still helps you focus?” Bucky asks. Surprise flickers over Steve’s face like he hadn’t expected Bucky to remember something like that. Bucky thinks he remembers every little thing about Steve’s expressions and habits. He doesn’t think he could forget — god knows there had been times when he’d tried. 

“Yeah,” Steve responds, voice a little quieter and his gaze intent. 

An awkward silence falls over them, both of them staring. 

“Um,” Bucky mutters, fidgeting. Abruptly he remembers why they’re there. “I brought the schematics for the latest model. I figure we can go over those.”

Something shifts in Steve’s expression, shoulders squaring. Professional Steve, Bucky thinks. 

“Sure, that sounds good. I looked over the specs you sent me earlier in the week and I have a few ideas. Maybe I can get some sketches down and once we have something we’re happy with we’ll send it off to the marketing guys for the slogans and all that.”

Bucky nods, looking around for a place to sit. 

“You can just grab Cynthia’s chair, she won’t mind.” Steve gestures to the chair at the desk adjacent to his, so Bucky walks over and rolls it over. As he sits he gets a whiff of neutral beta scent, which makes sense. Betas tend to care a lot less about someone’s scent on their stuff. 

Bucky leaves a healthy distance between him and Steve, but even so, he’s close enough to make out Steve’s scent. There’s still that hint of something different than what Bucky remembers — something almost milky, like Steve’s pupped before. Bucky stiffens at the thought, immediately glancing at Steve’s neck. What he can see is unmarked, but Steve’s wearing a collared shirt that could easily hide a mating mark. 

He doesn’t  _ smell  _ like he has an alpha, Bucky reassures himself as he scans Steve’s fingers for a wedding ring and his desk for pictures. But there’s no evidence of a significant other or of a child other than that slight, milky sweetness lingering to his scent. Bucky must be imagining things. 

“ — maybe some pictures of the trial users? One of my friends is actually a part of the most recent trial,” Steve is saying. 

“Really?” Bucky asks because they have a pretty small population of participants for the trial run of the prosthetics. What are the odds that Steve knows one of them?

“Yeah,” Steve says easily. “He’s a vet, so he got recommended by the VA.”

Bucky nods. Most of the participants are vets, so that sounds plausible. 

“Pictures would be great,” Bucky agrees. “It humanizes the prosthetic. On its own, it can look pretty scary. I can contact the program manager and see if we can get a general invite out to our trial users.”

“Great!” Steve says cheerfully, pulling open a drawer. He tugs out a battered looking sketchbook, which is more familiar than the oddly sterile surface of Steve’s desk. Flipping to a clean page, Steve puts pencil to paper. “I was thinking just people doing everyday things. We don’t want to sensationalize the prosthetic  _ or  _ make it look  ‘inspirational,’ y’know?”

Bucky nods, though he hadn’t even thought of that. “Yeah, I mean that’s definitely the point. We want to get this out so people who need it can use it, so we should show it the way people will actually be using it.”

Nodding, Steve pushes his glasses up, and adds, “But I also don’t want it to become creepy, you know? Like, look at these things people with disabilities need help to do! We don’t want pity or voyeurism.” 

Bucky’s eyebrows lift and he tucks his arm into his side because how often has a he felt that way since his accident? Like people only looked at him with pity, or the crawling sensation he got when skeevy people hit him up at bars and wanted to see his stump. He  _ definitely  _ doesn’t want their ads to look like that and he’s impressed that Steve had already thought that out. “Yeah,” he says softly. “Yeah, that’s important. I don’t want that.”

Steve looks up, and the focused expressions on his face softens. He  _ doesn’t  _ look at Bucky’s arm or ask what happened or say he’s sorry. He just says, “No, we definitely don’t.” 

There’s a beat of silence while they look at each other. It feels like the whole world is holding its breath. 

Steve tears his gaze away, turning back to his sketchbook. He clears his throat roughly and says, “So everyday things, but not personal things. Maybe groups of people, families, not individuals on their own…” Steve draws on, muttering to himself and sketching away. 

It feels desperately familiar. Bucky wants to lean in and drink in Steve’s scent. He wants to push close and bury his face in Steve’s neck. 

But he holds himself still and behaves himself. 

If this is all he gets, it’ll be enough, Bucky tries to tell himself.

He doesn’t really believe it. 

*

Bucky and Steve meet once or twice a week to work on the project, but as they progress there’s less and less for Bucky to do so there’s no real reason for them to keep doing working lunches. They agree on this semi-awkwardly when Bucky comes down one Tuesday, only to find that Steve’s consulting with a marketing specialist during their usual time. Bucky has learned that Steve works through most of his lunches, because of his off schedule. Bucky doesn’t approve, but it doesn’t really matter what he thinks. He doesn’t have any say in Steve’s life anymore. 

“Maybe,” Steve says slowly after they’ve stepped out of the room and agreed that Bucky doesn’t need to skip his lunches anymore, “We could get together some other time? Outside of work?”

“That sounds great!” Bucky says, probably a little too enthusiastically. Steve’s lips quirk into a shy little smile, though, so Bucky lets a broad grin stretch across his face. “When would work for you?”

Steve bites his lip, thinking. “I could do this Saturday? I’m free between two and five.”

“That would work for me,” Bucky says, mentally scanning his schedule. He usually goes to the gym then, but he can go Sunday instead. “Where are you living these days?”

“I’m in the Bronx,” Steve says, rubbing his neck. “I know that’s kind of a hassle to get too from Manhattan.”

“Eh, it’s alright,” Bucky says, though he’s kind of amazed Steve makes the commute every day. It’s a solid hour on a weekend, let alone during rush hour. Maybe that’s why Steve had arranged to leave so early? “We’ll make it work. I’m glad we’ll be able to spend some time together.”

Steve smiles a little, a shy, nervous thing that isn’t familiar at all. Bucky doesn’t know what to make it. 

“I probably shouldn’t leave Carol waiting…” Steve trails off, glancing back at his desk where the woman from marketing is waiting. “But let’s plan on coffee this Saturday? We can text about the details?”

“Sounds great.”

Bucky can’t stop smiling all day.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Discussion of past alcohol abuse in this chapter.

Natasha sits and laughs at him as Bucky tries to put an outfit together for his _definitely not a date, fuck get it together Barnes_ coffee with Steve. Bucky had insisted on coming to Steve because he could tell Steve was worried about getting back to the Bronx on time for whatever thing he had to make — Steve continues to be annoyingly vague about what exactly he’s doing the rest of the day. Bucky’s trying not to take it personally.

“This is ridiculous,” Bucky groans, looking at the clothes spread out across his bed.

“I’m not going to disagree,” Natasha says, a laugh in her voice. Bucky glares at her.

“It’s not a date,” Bucky says for what must be the 50th time in the last hour.

Natasha rolls her eyes at him. “Then it doesn’t matter what you wear. It’s still stupidly hot outside, you’re just going to end up drenched in sweat anyway.”

Bucky sighs. She’s right. For all that it’s September, the sticky heat of a New York summer is still clinging to the air. Shuffling through the piles of clothes, Bucky locates a pair of shorts and a fitted v-neck. Just to avoid unwanted attention, Bucky tosses a lightweight button down on top, which at least somewhat disguises his prosthetic.

He turns to his mirror, fussing with his hair. For years after Steve had vanished, Bucky had worn it long. Only recently did he cut it short again — and mostly because he figured it would be more professional. He runs his fingers through it, sort of wishing he had the option of pulling it back into a bun. Natasha gets up and comes up behind him.

Without warning, she hugs him tightly. Nat’s not one for casual physical affection like this. Bucky holds very still, accepting the hug the only way she’ll let him.

“Be careful with yourself,” Natasha says, drawing away. Bucky turns to her, looking at her carefully.

They’d met in the hospital after Bucky’s accident. She’d been there bringing Clint to PT for one of the many, many broken bones he’d gotten over the years.

It had been a dark time in Bucky’s life. He’s honestly not completely sure why she stuck through it with him. He hadn’t had any hope. He’d basically given up any dream of having a life worth living.

Natasha and Clint had been a big part of coming out the other side of that. Even in the six months before Bucky received admittance to the Stark Prosthetics Trial, things had really started to turn around for him.

It was amazing what true, decent friends could do for a person’s outlook on life.

“I will,” Bucky finally responds, because he knows that she’s protective because she loves him. He also knows that Natasha and Clint lay a lot of blame on Steve’s shoulders, for the ways Bucky’s life had gone astray. Bucky doesn’t feel that way — hasn’t for a long time. Those were his choices. Yeah, it was shitty for Steve to disappear the way he did. But Bucky knows Steve and he knows that Steve would never do that to him unless he felt like he had no other choice.

Natasha smiles grimly and steps away. “You better,” she says, stepping out the door, “I’m not above giving you a beat down.”

Bucky rolls his eyes fondly. God, he’s got good friends.

*

It takes him a little over an hour to get into Mott Haven to meet Steve. By the time Bucky reaches the coffee shop Steve had recommended, his shirt is sticking to his back and he’s more than a little annoyed at just about everyone — something about New York heat just makes everyone even more of an asshole than usual. The train stinks of everyone’s pheromones, making alphas more territorial than normal and omegas edgy and uncomfortable. Bucky had to restrain himself from growling at a couple other alphas who got in his space, even though logically he knew that they weren’t challenging him.

He takes a minute to compose himself, because while this isn’t a date, Bucky would rather not show up a hot mess. When he finally does get himself together to go in, it’s not easy to spot Steve at first. The coffee shop is one of those places that look a little too much like Pinterest threw up on it for Bucky’s taste and it’s surprisingly busy — especially given that the rest of the street was boarded up and graffitied buildings with ‘for rent’ signs on them.  

Bucky finds him after a minute of looking, though, tucked into a back corner doodling in a sketchbook. Bucky winds his way through the crowd and Steve glances up just as he’s approaching.

Steve stands right as Bucky reaches the table. For a minute they just stand there awkwardly, before finally Bucky darts in for a quick hug. It’s the first time they’ve hugged since they’ve been reunited, and Bucky wants it to last forever. But he forces himself to keep it quick and ignore his urge to scent Steve. He can’t help but catch a whiff of him, though.

Immediately, Bucky’s hackles go up. Steve smells like another, unfamiliar alpha. And not in a _shook hands_ or _stood to close on the train_ kind of way. Bucky suppresses the urge to press close and rub all over Steve until he only smells like Bucky. He takes a quick step back instead, but Steve must catch something in his expression because he gives him a disapproving look.

“Um,” Bucky says, feeling kind of stupid for the intensity of his response. “I’m just going to go grab something to drink — do you need anything?”

Steve sits back down and gestures to his iced coffee with a little shake of his head.

 _Stupid,_ Bucky berates himself as he heads over to the counter. He doesn’t have any right to Steve. Steve’s not his — he never was. And if Steve has an alpha in his life...well, that’s good. As long as they treat Steve alright, it’s none of Bucky’s business.

Bucky tries to fix this in the front of his brain as he waits for his own iced coffee, and by the time he makes it back to Steve he’s managed to turn the growling _mine mine mine_ into a quiet whisper in the corner of his brain.

“So,” Bucky says, sitting down and awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. He’s not really sure where to start. In their meetings, he and Steve have stuck to strictly professional matters — never straying into the personal at all.

Steve bites his lip and Bucky tries not to notice the way it gets red and plump. After a moment, Steve asks, “How’s your family doing? Still living in Brooklyn?”

“Like you could ever get my ma to leave,” Bucky jokes. Steve grins, his blue eyes dancing a little behind his glasses. Winifred had practically raised Steve, just the way Sarah had practically raised him. He and Steve had been inseparable, and their moms had often joked that they had a two for the price of one deal on sons. “Becca’s up at Vassar, doing pre-med. Nathan’s just started his senior year. And Tilly’s doing well, she’s a sophomore.”

“Wow,” Steve says, shaking his hand. “Can’t believe it — little Tilly a sophomore!”

“I know!” Bucky agrees, sitting up a little. “Seems like only yesterday she was toddling after us.”

They smile fondly at each other a moment, but Steve eventually glances away.

“And they’re all doing well?” Steve asks. “Everyone’s healthy and all?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, a little quieter. This anxiety of Steve’s is familiar to Bucky. Sarah’s battle with cancer lasted three long, grueling years and throughout Steve was constantly anxious that someone else would get sick. “Everyone’s good.”

“I’m glad,” Steve says earnestly, meeting his eyes. “And how about you?”

Steve’s eyes don’t flick down to Bucky’s arm. It doesn’t feel like he’s angling for the story the way so many people do. Bucky doesn’t understand why people think it’s any of their business how he lost his arm, but most of them act that way anyway. Steve isn’t acting like that.

Maybe it’s that, or maybe it’s just that it’s _Steve,_ who Bucky knows he can trust. Whatever it is, Bucky finds himself saying, “I’m alright. I had some tough times, after,” he waves his prosthetic illustratively, “But these days I do alright.”

“I’m really glad to hear that.” Steve meets his eyes, expression honest and open.

“I really missed you,” Bucky finds himself saying. He regrets it immediately as Steve looks down on the table, lips screwing up.

Steve’s long, graceful fingers fidget with his coffee cup. After a moment, he says quietly, “I missed you too.”

Bucky’s breath catches in his throat. He has so many questions, there’s so much of Steve’s life he’s missed and he wants to know it all. But most of all he wants to know where Steve went, why he disappeared, why he never got in touch. Bucky’s ma and dad still have a landline, just on the off chance that Steve needed to call.

“How have you been?” Bucky asks, instead of saying any of that.

Steve glances up, meeting Bucky’s gaze. He studies Bucky for a long minute. “Things have been alright. The Stark Fellowship has really been a godsend. Still can’t believe I got it some days.”

“Of course you got it,” Bucky says automatically. “You’re really talented and you work hard. Why wouldn’t they want you?”

Steve shrugs, a pink flush spreading over his cheekbones. It sends his homey, familiar scent drifting through the space between them and Bucky has to resist the urge to scent the air like some predatory alpha. “There were a lot of really qualified applicants,” Steve hedges.

“And obviously you were the most qualified.” Steve shrugs a little in response to that, but there’s a pleased smile tugging at his lips.

There’s a moment of quiet, but it’s substantially less awkward than at the beginning of their conversation, so Bucky counts that as a win. After taking a sip of his iced tea, he asks, “So when did you come back to New York?”

Steve bites his lip, eyes shooting to Bucky’s face and then glancing away again. Licking his lips, Steve finally says, “I moved here with some friends a few years back. I guess it was...2013?”

Bucky can’t help the frown that crosses his face at that news. “Why didn’t you get in touch?” he finds himself asking. “I mean if you’ve been here three years…”

The sharp tang of anxious omega hits Bucky’s nose and he almost opens his mouth to take the question back. Before he can, Steve says, “It had been such a long time. I wasn’t sure if you’d really want to hear from me. And…” Steve stops, biting his lips like he’s chewing something over. Finally, Steve sighs and looks out the window. “My life is really complicated. I wasn’t sure…”

When it becomes clear that Steve’s not going to continue, Bucky leans forward, propping his elbows on the table. He can smell Steve clearer this way, even with the sweaty crowd that surrounds them. “I always want you in my life,” Bucky says seriously. “No matter how long it’s been, no matter how complicated things are. My life isn’t all sunshine and roses either, but — fuck, Steve. You were my best friend for over a decade. That doesn’t just go away.”

Steve tucks his chin and doesn’t say anything.

Bucky sighs, drawing back. “Can we at least try to be friends again?” he asks, not even trying to disguise the tinge of desperation in his voice.

“Yeah,” Steve says, looking up again. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Bucky grins.

*

And they do try. But Steve is chronically busy — he can’t meet after work hours for mysterious reasons he doesn’t really explain, and most weekends aren’t good either. Instead, they spend a lot of time texting. It starts with little things — Bucky sends observations from his morning commute, Steve responds in picture format of things from his own commute. Bucky texts Steve goodnight and wakes in the morning to Steve’s good mornings.

They talk about work, about their project, and then about other projects they’re working on. Steve stresses to Bucky about his monthly meeting with the Graphic Design team lead, who monitors Steve’s work as a part of his fellowship. Bucky gripes when the older engineers in his department don’t take him seriously. Bucky’s only been at Stark Industries six months, but just being young and smart has been enough to rub a lot of people the wrong way.  

Sometimes Bucky snags a couple minutes to go down and visit with Steve, but Steve is usually deep in a project and doesn’t have much time to talk. Still, sometimes Bucky just brings him a coffee and sits with him for ten minutes. Even if they don’t talk it’s still nice.

Bucky’s glad to have Steve in his life, he really is. It’s just…

He wants more. He wants Steve to come over to his apartment and play video games with Nat and Clint. He wants to bring Steve to Shabbat dinner at his ma’s, who’s been asking after him constantly since Bucky told her he’d reconnected.

When Buck hits his rut at the end of September he wants Steve for lots of other things too. He wants to pull Steve close and kiss him _everywhere,_ he wants to lick Steve open and bury his knot inside him. He wants to bite down on Steve’s neck and mate him.

Steve still comes to work at least once a week smelling like another alpha. It’s always the same alpha too, someone with a strong, appealing scent — freshly cut grass and damp spring air. Bucky kind of hates that alpha. His only reassurance is that Steve never smells like he’s been intimate with the alpha. He doesn’t even really smell like he’s been marked by that alpha — just like he’s spent a lot of time with them or spent a lot of time in their space.

Not long after Bucky’s rut, Steve takes a week off for his heat. When he comes back he doesn’t have any marks that suggest he had been with an alpha, to Bucky’s internal and shameful glee.

He tries to take Natasha and Clint’s advice and just be Steve’s friend. He tries really hard not to want more than Steve gives him. He tries not to take it personally when Steve can’t get together. He tries not to read into Steve’s hesitations and vague responses to so many of his questions.

It’s really hard. _When are you going to bring Steve home?_ Bucky’s ma will ask. Clint will say _so do we ever get to meet this guy you literally talk about all the time?_ and Nat will smack him. Steve will lean across Bucky in a coffee shop and the tantalizing scent of him makes Bucky’s whole fucking body light up. Bucky will ask Steve if he wants to get together for dinner and Steve will just send a _sorry, can’t._

Bucky only pushes once.

 _Why not?_ he asks.

_Busy._

_You’re always busy. I thought we were going to try to be friends._

Steve doesn’t respond for a long time. When he does, the text is like a punch to the gut. _I thought we were friends. I’m sorry I’m busy, that’s just my life right now. If you can’t deal with it, maybe we shouldn’t be friends._

Bucky makes himself sit and consider that before he responds. Can he deal with it? Can he really keep being Steve’s friend if Steve never has the time to get together, if Steve never wants to hang out with Bucky’s other friends?

But then Bucky thinks of all the years without Steve — without his sly humor, and his stubbornness and his keen observations about all the people around them.

 _I’m sorry,_ he sends. _I didn’t mean to push._ He hesitates and then forces himself to be as honest as he can stand. _I just really like spending time with you. I wish we could do it more often._

 _It’s alright,_ Steve responds. _I wish I wasn’t so busy too._

It’s not _I want to spend more time with you_ , but Bucky will take what he can get.

And things do get a little better — Steve clears his schedule so they can get together for coffee every Saturday afternoon. Bucky likes having a standing time ( _not a date!_ ), even if Steve always shows up smelling like that other goddamn alpha.

But it does get easier to talk to Steve.

“Can’t tell you how glad I was to move back to New York,” Steve says. Bucky convinced Steve to take a walk outside during his lunch break. The weather is finally starting to cool and Bucky’s trying to cram in all the sunny days he can before winter descends. Steve and Bucky had stopped at a corner to grab a hot dog. “I mean D.C. was fine and all, but there’s no place like New York.”

“Fuck, I can’t even imagine living anywhere else,” Bucky says.

“New York fucks you up for anywhere else,” Steve says sagely. “Or just fucks you up. Kind of a toss-up.”

“Hey,” Bucky laughs. “I will have you know that I am a perfectly well-adjusted twenty-something.”

Steve gives him a flinty side-eye. “Uh-huh,” he says, voice droll.

“Oh, yeah, like you’re so well adjusted.”

“I’ll have you know that I am completely fucked up and proud, thanks all the same,” Steve says archly, but he loses it and snorts a minute later.

“Eh, everyone’s a little fucked up,” Bucky says, leaving his tone light even as he thinks about all the ways he is well and truly messed up.

Steve sighs a little, his head obviously going somewhere darker too. “Yeah.”

Bucky clears his throat and reorients the conversation. “Anyway, listen. I think my ma may actually kill me if I don’t bring you to dinner soon.”

Steve laughs, but his expression goes a little stiff. “I’ll see what I can do,” he says, and then immediately changes the subject, “I have to tell you about this photographer who came in for this project I’m working on…”

And it goes like that. They talk. They talk a lot. But any time they approach something real or intimate, Steve side steps cleanly. So they can joke about Joe from Management who’s chronically a hot mess, but they can’t talk about where Steve was last week when he missed work.

“Have you thought about opening up to him first?” Natasha asks as they laze on their couch watching the latest Game of Thrones in a horrified sort of trance — like they do every week. Every week one of them suggests they should just stop watching it because holy crap it’s all kinds of fucked up and every week they watch it anyway.

Natasha’s got her feet in Bucky’s lap and Bucky’s rubbing them idly as he complains about his total lack of success at connecting to Steve.

Bucky goes still at her suggestion, thinking about what that would mean. Nat prods him with her toe and he gets back to massaging. “That would kinda suck,” he says honestly. “Like, what am I supposed to say? I went in to a deep depressive state when you left, became an alcoholic, got in a car crash, lost my arm, and had to rebuild my life from the bottom up all over again?”

“I mean, I can think of other ways of phrasing it, but if that’s what you want to go with…” Bucky pokes her calf playfully and she rolls her eyes at him. “My point is just — you don’t want to talk about your shit, so why should he want to talk about his?”

Bucky sighs, letting his head drop back on their couch. She’s right, is the problem. Bucky can’t expect Steve to trust him if he doesn’t trust Steve.

“Why do you have to be right about everything?” Bucky groans.

“It’s a gift. Now rub my feet, asshole.”

Bucky does as he’s told.

*

He thinks a lot about what Natasha said in the next couple days, though. And when Steve asks “What are you up to tonight?” Bucky makes himself respond as honestly as he can bring himself too.

“Uh, I actually go to AA the second Saturday of every month.” Bucky rubs his neck and looks away. It’s Saturday and they’re tucked in a little Puerto Rican restaurant in the South Bronx — a place Steve had recommended for the best _platones_ around.

“Oh,” Steve says softly. Bucky braces himself and glances over at him. But there’s no judgment on his face. He looks a little worried and a little awkward like he doesn’t really know what to say. That’s okay, though. Bucky knows it’s kind of a big bomb to just drop on someone.

“I’ve been completely sober three years,” Bucky says.

“Oh,” Steve repeats, “That’s um, that’s good. Thanks for trusting me with this.”

Bucky makes himself look up at that. “I do trust you, Steve. I hope you know that.”

Steve swallows visibly and nods.

Bucky doesn’t push. He doesn’t say _I hope you know you can trust me too._ Instead, he just echoes Steve’ nod and clears his throat. “So did I tell you that Clint fell down the stairs at our apartment again?”

“Seriously?” Steve asks. “I feel like that’s the third time this month.”

“He’s such a fucking mess, Steve, I don’t even know.”

Steve laughs. Bucky watches the arch of his throat and the little dimple in his cheek that only appears when he laughs. He scents the air, not obviously, but just enough to get a whiff of happy omega.

*

On Monday, Steve asks how Bucky’s meeting was. Bucky stares at him for a minute. Most people he tells never bring it up again.

“Sorry, is that not okay to ask?” Steve asks, looking horribly self-conscious and smelling anxious.

“No, it’s fine,” Bucky says. “Thanks for asking, actually. Most people don’t and — well. Yeah. It was good. How was your weekend?”

Steve licks his lips, looking a little nervous. “It was good. We — I got together with some of my friends.” Bucky perks up a little. Steve hasn’t really talked about his friends, not the way Bucky does.

“Uh, I don’t think I told you — but my friend Riley and I met in the Omega Home I went to after…” Steve trails off, doesn’t finish the thought. Bucky reaches out, gently placing his hand on Steve’s bicep. Steve looks up, catching his eyes, and flashes a tiny smile. “Anyway, we’ve been really close since then. I actually came back to New York with Riley.” Bucky feels a flash of irrational jealousy. Once, _he_ was Steve’s best and closest friend. It’s hard not to feel jealous of the person who seems to hold that position now.

“That’s nice, that you guys have been friends that long,” Bucky says, and it is. He’s glad that Steve’s had someone in his life who cares for him since Bucky couldn’t be there.

“Yeah,” Steve says with a grin. He pauses and then, biting his lip, offers, “It’s nice to have someone who gets it, you know? I mean, Riley was in the home with me. He had his own story, but we were both there. We were roommates, actually. And he stuck with me through some really hard times.”

“I’m glad you had someone,” Bucky says honestly. Abruptly he realizes that his hand is still on Steve’s bicep and he pulls it away. “I’d love to meet them sometime.”

Steve’s eyes shift away hesitantly, but he says, “I’d like that. Maybe we could get together with them and Clint and Natasha for dinner sometime. I’d really like to meet your friends too.”

“That would be great!” Bucky enthuses.

He goes back to his office with a skip in his step. Natasha’s recommendation that he open up to Steve seems to have worked, not that he’s ever going to tell her that.  

*

Things get better. Steve’s still busy, but when they do get together they talk about real things. They talk about stupid shit too, of course.

They don’t ever get around to doing dinner with all of their friends, but Steve is convinced to come meet Nat and Clint at one of their favorite sushi haunts. 

“Stop worrying,” Natasha says, rolling her eyes at him. “I promise not to punch him unless he really deserves it.”

Bucky tries to huff a laugh, but his eyes are glued to the front door, waiting for Steve. They’d gotten there early because Bucky’s kind of an anxious wreck about the whole thing and also Clint couldn’t be relied upon to get anywhere on time ever. 

Bucky’s friends are still pretty wary of Steve’s presence in his life, he knows that. He wants them to see what he sees — how good Steve is, how good Steve is  _ for  _ Bucky. So there’s a lot of pressure — he wants tonight to go really well. He wants them all to get along, maybe even like each other. 

Finally, Bucky sees Steve’s slim form sliding through the doorway. He’s a little dressed up — a button down and some fitted jeans, with his hair pushed back. Fuck, he looks good, Bucky thinks. He waves his hand a little in Steve’s direction and after a moment Steve sees him and waves back and start winding through the crowd.

“Be nice,” Bucky hisses to Natasha right before Steve reaches their table. 

Bucky stands up and leans in for a quick hug. Steve smells like that other fucking alpha and Bucky resists the urge to rub his wrist over Steve’s neck, marking him. Steve’s head turns a little and Bucky freezes, feeling the soft huff of Steve’s breath as he scents Bucky. Bucky tucks his nose in too, feeling free to scent Steve properly for the first time since they were reunited. 

His eyes flutter shut as memories start to rush back — memories of long afternoons spent at the park, of nights spent whispering long after their moms had turned out the lights, of divulging first crushes and kisses, of the way Steve’s body had felt against his.  

When Steve starts to pull away, Bucky tries not to make it a thing. 

“Um, hey Steve. Glad you could make it!”

“Me too,” Steve says with a friendly smile.

“This is Natasha and Clint,” Bucky introduces, stepping to the side a little. 

“It’s very nice to meet you,” Steve says, “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Whatever he said about the pizza isn’t true,” Clint states emphatically, eyebrows drawing down in apparent concern. 

It startles Steve into a laugh and Bucky takes a moment to shoot mental thanks at Clint. He forgets, sometimes, how good Clint can be with people. 

Everyone goes to take their seat — Steve sits down next to Bucky, elbows brushing as they get situated. At close quarters like this, Bucky can easily pick out the notes of Steve’s scent — all the familiar ones, from ten years of friendship, and the little changes that eight years have wrought. 

“We’ve heard a lot about you too,” Natasha says and goddamn, how can she make something so innocent sound so threatening? Steve’s eyebrows lift in surprise, but otherwise he doesn’t react. 

“Well I’m sure Bucky hasn’t told you anything too damaging — we have a sacred vow of pinky swear. It involved spit — that’s how you know it’s binding.”

Everybody laughs at that. Bucky can remember that specific moment, though. They’d been seven and eight respectively. They’d been sitting under the playscape at recess and Steve had admitted in a whispered voice that his ma had lost her job and they weren’t going to have any money for rent next month. Then he’d made Bucky promise not to tell a living soul. Very seriously, Bucky had vowed, “I’ll never tell anyone your secrets, Stevie. I promise.”

And Bucky’d been true to his word. He wanted to tell his ma, but instead, he did extra chores and brought Steve his allowance every week. Steve wouldn’t always take it, so Bucky would slip it into his backpack when he wasn’t looking. 

Bucky blinks a surge of emotion back, thinking about it. Obviously, there wasn’t anything his $2 a week could really do, but he’d been so determined to help. And that’s how it had always been with Steve. 

“So you guys grew up together, right?” Clint asks, fiddling with his menu, instead of signing like he usually does. Bucky frowns a little. His ASL isn’t quite good enough to keep up with an aural conversation, but maybe if he tries then Clint will feel like he can. It’s either that or try and draw subtle attention to Steve’s hearing aid. While Clint can get on with just his hearing aids and some lip reading, signs helps with clarity and  _ he’s  _ more confident if he can sign. “You have to have some pretty amazing stories?”

“Hey! That pinky swear went in both directions!”

Steve huffs a laugh, eyes lighting up. “Did Bucky ever tell you about the time he attempted to climb Mr. Gregory’s house?” Bucky groans, collapsing against his chair and covering his face with his hand. 

“He definitely did not,” Natasha drawls, shooting Bucky a wicked glance. 

“He got up there alright,” Steve explains. “Mind, we weren’t at home — we were at his grandparents’ place, in the ‘burbs. They gave us the run of the neighborhood. Bucky decided to do this while everyone was at a barbeque over at a neighbor’s house. 

“So he gets up there,” Steve says, with a sweeping hand gesture. “And promptly gets too freaked out to come down.” 

Clint snorts and Bucky moves his fingers to glare at him with one eye. Nat’s eyes are twinkling in an absolutely devilish way. Dammit, why did he think this was a good idea again?

“Only he won’t let me go get his grandparents.  So he sits up there, on the roof of Mr. Gregory’s porch for  _ two hours  _ until people started coming home from the barbeque. One of the Jones boys had to get a ladder and fetch him down.”

“That is fucking amazing,” Clint laughs. 

“Tell us more. I need to hear it all,” Natasha adds. Steve glances over at Bucky, a teasing look in his eyes and it’s so familiar that Bucky doesn’t even care what story comes out next. He’d gladly have all his most embarrassing moments aired out for public consumption to keep that familiarity. 

“Well, this one time…”

*

Bucky and Steve start to have lunch together every day, even if Steve has to work through his. Bucky always comes down to keep him company. Sometimes they spend the whole hour sitting in quiet — sometimes it seems like there’s no stop to their conversations. 

What might have been scent memory and nostalgic teenage angst when Steve came back into Bucky’s life has definitely turned into a sizeable crush. Bucky just really likes having Steve around. He likes having someone who remembers stupid shit from his childhood — like the two months in third grade where Bucky wore nothing but stripes. He likes the way Steve listens when Bucky whines about his coworkers. He likes the way Steve doesn’t take any of his shit — doesn’t let Bucky make excuses to miss his AA meeting, even though he really is exhausted. 

Steve shares more of himself as time goes on, but he’s slow to trust Bucky with new things. Bucky can tell there’s still a lot that Steve doesn’t tell him. 

Bucky wants to be in every part of Steve’s life that Steve will let him be a part of. He doesn’t ever want to lose Steve again. 

He might be kind of in love with him. 

*

Sometimes he thinks Steve might feel the same way. 

He catches Steve glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. There’s a whiff of arousal when they linger in a hug. He touches him more, not quite marking, but not quite  _ not marking  _ either. 

Maybe it’s finally their time, Bucky thinks. Maybe now, after all these years, is when they’re finally ready to be together. 

*

That Saturday, he and Steve end up wandering around Harlem together. Thanksgiving is rapidly approaching and the air’s crisp, but not too cold, and Steve’s allergies are finally starting to die down for the year. When Steve’s leg starts to hitch the way it does when his joints are bothering him, they find a quiet little coffee shop to rest in. 

They tuck themselves in a corner in two armchairs pushed close together. Bucky can hardly smell anything but Steve and it’s going straight to his head. Steve’s chatting about his friends, waving his hands around expressively, but Bucky’s not taking a word in. Without really thinking it through, he darts in and plants a kiss on Steve’s lips. 

Steve goes still. Bucky pulls away, regretting it immediately. What was he thinking? Steve brings shaking fingers to his lips and touches them briefly, staring at Bucky. “Why did you do that?” Steve asks. 

Bucky meets his eyes. “You know why.”

There’s a long moment of silence. Bucky fidgets nervously with his coffee mug. “I’ve wanted you for as long as I can remember,” he says. “That night — the night before you left. I wish we’d done it a lot sooner, Steve. I wish…”

Steve’s shaking his head. “I can’t, Bucky. I’m sorry, I can’t.” And then he’s picking up his coat and running out the door, leaving Bucky sitting there feeling like the biggest idiot ever. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has left comments and kudos! They are much appreciated. :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the big one! Also this is probably going to be at least 11 chapters now. I am...not sure. It keeps growing, but I am still several chapters ahead so postings should remain regular. :)

They don’t talk for two weeks. Their project is in its last stages, which means it’s basically out of Bucky’s hands at this point, so he doesn’t even have an excuse to go talk to Steve about work shit. 

It fucking sucks, but Bucky doesn’t let it be more than that. He doesn’t let it take his life off its rails. He keeps going to work, he eats Chinese with Nat and Clint, he finds his way to the gym a couple times a week. He goes to Thanksgiving dinner, Nat and Clint in tow like every year, and tries to put on a brave face. 

He knows his ma sees through him, catches her whispering worriedly with Natasha in the hall. 

He hears, “I’m going to give that boy a talking to. There’s no excuse for the way he’s treated Jamie,” and turns back into the kitchen. This isn’t Steve’s fault. Bucky was reading into things. He shouldn’t have pushed.

*

On Saturday, when he’d usually be getting ready to leave to meet up with Steve, Bucky wanders over to Central Park. It’s a long walk from his and Nat’s place and it’s cold out, which makes his arm ache, but he needs the distraction. The pain takes his mind off the whole shit show with Steve.

He puts his headphones in, pulls his hat down low, sticks his hand in his pockets and lets the hustle and bustle of the city distract him. 

Bucky grew up in Prospect Park and Central Park never quite lost the allure of his childhood, when it was reserved for special family trips into Manhattan. As he approaches the Central Park Zoo, Bucky drifts back to weekends when he, Steve, and their mas would go there together. Steve would bring his sketchbook and they’d spend hours wandering around. 

Maybe it’s because he’s thinking about Steve that Bucky doesn’t realize he’s looking at Steve until he’s been staring right at him for a few seconds. But it  _ is  _ Steve — bundled up in a winter jacket and wearing a knit blue cap, but recognizable all the same. He’s with two other men — Bucky can’t tell their designation from where he’s standing — both much taller than him. One of them turns, revealing two strollers — no, one of those is a wheelchair. 

Steve’s pushing the wheelchair. There’s a little girl sitting in it. She’s got dark, thick, wavy hair —  _ just like Becca’s,  _ Bucky’s brain whispers — and Steve’s smile. It’s hard to tell since she’s sitting down, but Bucky thinks she might be seven. Maybe eight. 

He forgets how to breathe. He can’t think straight. 

That can’t be it. It  _ can’t  _ be. Steve would have told him, right?

The little group is laughing. Steve’s face is easy and open. He reaches up and tickles the girl on the side of her neck, an affectionate marking gesture. 

One way to know for sure, Bucky realizes. If he gets close enough he’ll be able to tell if she’s his — he’ll be able to smell it. 

He starts to push through the crowd, mind racing. He thinks of that sweet, milky scent that Steve carries now. Bucky had thought it smelled like he’d pupped, but he’d dismissed it out of hand. He couldn’t imagine why Steve would hide a pup. 

Steve turns as Bucky pushes out of the last crowd. Bucky can tell when Steve spots him — his face goes panicked, his eyes sweep down to the little girl. One of the men bumps into Steve. 

“C’mon man,” the guy starts to say, but then he catches sight of Bucky too. “Oh.”

“Bucky…” Steve starts to say. Bucky stumbles a little closer until he can smell Steve. He turns his eyes to the little girl — she’s staring up at him too, eyes wide behind her glasses. She’s got Steve’s eyes, Bucky thinks. Blue and bright and clever. She’s got Bucky’s chin — the little cleft that’s so familiar. 

A coal lodges in Bucky’s throat. He thinks he might cry. He thinks he might scream. 

He takes a deep inhale, scenting. She smells like she’s  _ his. His pup.  _

Bucky doesn’t know what to say — he can’t even decide where to look. Abruptly, he remembers the wheelchair and he lowers his gaze again and then rips it away and back to Steve. He has so many questions, he doesn’t even know where to start. 

“Alright, well,” one of the other men says. Now that he’s closer, Bucky can smell that he’s an alpha — the alpha that Steve always smells like. But this close Bucky can also tell that he’s mated to the other omega — they must be Sam and Riley. Their kid — a baby — is fast asleep in the stroller. “I think we can all say that this is not how we wanted this to go.”

“You think?” Steve mutters. 

The little girl tilts her head back, studying him intently. Bucky can’t tear his eyes away from her. “That’s...Papa, that’s Bucky,” she says, turning to look at Steve. 

Bucky can’t get in a full breath. Why would she know who he is unless… 

Did Steve tell her about him, all those years?

“Yes, honey,” Steve says softly, stroking a stray curl away from her face. “That’s Bucky.”

“Oh,” she says, turning back. She’s staring, but so is Bucky. His head is full of noise — he doesn’t know what to say or do or  _ anything.  _ He drinks in the sight of her. He again notes the wheelchair — bright blue and green, decorated with stickers — and then notices that she’s wearing braces on her lower legs, strapped over cotton leggings. They’re galaxy printed, Bucky observes, a quiet thought in the maelstrom that is his mind right now. 

“Steve,” the other alpha says, voice gentle. “Why don’t you and Bucky go chat. Riley and I can take the kids to the zoo.”

The little girl makes a face. “But I want Papa to come!”

“I’ll meet you afterwards,” Steve says, coming around and crouching down so he can look her eye to eye. Bucky watches — Steve’s so natural, so easy. “We’ll go get dinner, okay?”

She sighs, pouting out her bottom lip. “Can we go to the bookstore after?” she haggles and Bucky can’t suppress a smile. He hides it by looking at the ground.  _ Maybe she really is mine,  _ he thinks. 

Steve laughs and nods. “Sure thing, kiddo.”

She hesitates, licking her lips the exact way Steve does. “Maybe Bucky can come too?”

Steve startles and looks back at Bucky. They meet each other’s gaze for a long minute. Bucky’s not sure what Steve sees in his eyes, but he turns back to his daughter and says, “Maybe. We’ll see how it goes, okay?”

“Okay, Papa.” She stretches her arms out for a hug, which Steve quickly obliges. 

The other alpha — it must be Sam, Bucky thinks — steps up behind her. “Alright, for me to take the wheel, Captain?”

“Aye aye!” she says with a big grin. Sam takes off, staggering across the path and making her squeal with laughter. Steve and Riley both watch fondly and Bucky watches them. Riley’s not what he expected. He’s at least Bucky’s height, maybe taller, and buff, with strong shoulders. He’s got a welcoming, homey scent — Bucky blushes a little to realize he can smell his milk, he’s still breastfeeding. New omega parents get this universally calming scent, even those that don’t breastfeed. It’s a sweet scent that makes Bucky want to curl up and take a nap. People have tried to synthesize that particular scent for years to no avail. 

Steve smelled that way once, Bucky realizes with a start. Steve smelled that way and Bucky missed it. Goddamnit. Bucky missed so much. Anger curls into his stomach, along with a deep hurt. How could Steve have kept this from him?

“You sure you don’t mind?” Steve asks Riley after a few seconds. 

“You know we don’t. Kiara’s probably going to sleep through it anyway and Charlie’s easy.”

_ Charlie,  _ Bucky thinks. That’s her name.  _ Charlie.  _ He whispers it to himself. 

“Thanks,” Steve sighs, leaning into Riley’s side. Riley presses back and turns to nuzzle the side of Steve’s head, marking and scenting in one go. It surprises Bucky to see it — Steve had never let anyone but his ma mark him, before. Not even Bucky had been allowed. But Steve and Riley have been friends for years, Bucky reminds himself, and they’re both omegas, so there’s a different dynamic. 

Riley walks away, pushing the stroller, and Steve turns back to Bucky. There’s an awkward silence and Steve shuffles his feet nervously. “Should we find someplace to sit down and talk?” Steve eventually suggests and Bucky nods, still not sure what to say or ask first. 

They find a little coffee shop just outside the park — it’s absurdly overpriced and neither of them buy a coffee, but they’re able to find a couple comfortable armchairs in the back corner away from the judgmental glare of the barista. 

For a minute they just sit there. Bucky stares at Steve, who looks anywhere but back at Bucky. 

“She’s mine, right?” It’s not really a question. Bucky knows she is, but he needs the verbal confirmation. He needs to hear Steve say it. 

“Yes,” Steve says, quiet but firm. He finally meets Bucky’s gaze. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Bucky can’t help the way hurt leaks into his voice. He doesn’t even feel bad at Steve’s wince. He deserved to know — certainly now, but all those years ago too. Is this why Steve disappeared from his life? Because he didn’t want Bucky to know? 

“I’m sorry,” Steve sighs. “I should have. I just...I didn’t want you to feel obligated. Not then, not now. A pup’s a big commitment. We were just teenagers. You had your whole life ahead of you — you were going to college, you were going to have a career. A pup changes all that.”

It’s such a Steve answer and it infuriates him. “That wasn’t for you to decide!” Bucky barks. Then, noting stares, lowers his voice. “She’s my kid. I should have been there — I would have wanted to be there, Steve. For every single second. I can’t believe you didn’t know that.”

Steve bites his lip. “I think I did know. I...I was trying to protect you.”

“From what?” Bucky snaps. “Goddamnit Steve, you know I always wanted pups. I wanted them while I was still a pup myself.” How long had Bucky dreamed of it, settling down with an omega ( _ Steve _ ) and having a whole litter of pups? 

“Not when you were a teenager, though. That wasn’t the plan. Neither of us meant for —”

“No,” Bucky admits. “But it’s what happened, isn’t it? And now…” Bucky swallows against a sudden onslaught of grief, “I missed eight years.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, emotion rising in his voice too. Both their scents are distressed and they’re attracting attention because of it, but Bucky can’t bring himself to care. “I really am.”

“Why didn’t you at least tell me once we met again? It’s been months and you haven't so much as hinted at even having a pup.”

Bucky watches Steve’s adam apple bob in his throat, the sweep of his eyelashes as he blinks three times in quick succession. Finally, Steve admits. “I was scared, okay? I was scared of how you would react. I — I didn’t want to lose you again.”

A tear trickles down Bucky’s face, escaping him. “You’re not going to lose me,” Bucky says fiercely. He leans forward and takes Steve’s hands. Steve meets his eyes, shame, fear, and something else, something complicated and difficult to interpret, written all over his face. “I’m sticking around. For both of you, okay? I want to be a part of your life.”

“I want that too,” Steve admits with a soft sigh. 

Slowly, Bucky pulls back. He doesn’t want to let go of Steve’s hands, but he makes himself. 

“Can you tell me about her?” Bucky asks. He wants to ask about the wheelchair, about the braces, but he also knows that’s far from the most important thing to know about Charlie. That will come in its own time — he knows he hates when the first thing people ask about him is about his arm. 

Steve nods, rubbing hands quickly over his face, even though he’s managed without any tears. “Yeah, yeah. I’d like that.”

So Bucky sits back and listens to Steve talk about their daughter. God.  _ Their daughter.  _ He’s a  _ dad. _

“I named her Charlotte,” Steve starts. “But we all call her Charlie. She hates being called Charlotte, actually.” Steve laughs a little and Bucky smiles, imagining a little girl with Steve’s spirit making it very, very clear she’s not to be called by her full name. “I think she gets that from you,” Steve says, teasing a little and Bucky grins wider. 

He likes the thought that Charlie got things from him, even though he wasn’t there. 

“She’s in third grade this year,” Steve says. “She goes to a charter school in the Bronx. She’s got a lot of friends there. It’s been a really good school for her. Um, let’s see. She loves to read. We’re actually reading the Harry Potter books right now.”

Bucky gives an exaggerated gasp. “You mean all it took to get you to actually read them was having a kid?!”

Steve rolls his eyes. Despite Bucky’s inspired rants when they were kids, Steve had never read the books. Bucky still doesn’t understand how he was such good friends with someone so completely non-nerdy.

After a beat, Steve admits softly, “She’s your kid too. I tried to give her the things you would have.”

That stops Bucky in his tracks. He meets Steve’s eyes seriously. “Thank you.”

“She also loves Nancy Drew,” Steve adds. “So she’s not all your’s.”

Bucky laughs and Steve grins, the mood playful again. 

“She does art classes twice a week after school,” Steve says, soft pride in his voice. “She’s getting really good. On weekends she plays wheelchair basketball with a borough-wide league. She’s  _ not  _ very good at that yet, but she loves it. And she swims a lot, too. With Riley, actually.”

Bucky licks his lips and hesitates. But she’s his kid and he needs to know if there are medical things he needs to be aware of. He wants to know what to expect so he doesn’t do or say the wrong thing. “Steve, can I ask about the wheelchair?” he asks, voice quiet. 

Steve looks up, a little surprise in his eyes. It quickly turns to protective guardedness. “She’s got CP,” Steve explains. He clasps his hands but doesn’t look away from Bucky — monitoring Bucky’s reaction, Bucky thinks. “Cerebral palsy. She was born really premature. 29 weeks.”

Bucky takes a sharp inhale. That’s so  _ little.  _

“I — I wasn’t doing so hot,” Steve admits. “Health-wise. I couldn’t carry her to term.” God, there’s a world of self-blame in there, Bucky thinks. Steve takes a deep breath and shakes his head softly. “There were complications. So, yeah. CP. But she does really well. It’s just her legs.” Bucky has the odd urge to pull out a notebook and start writing things down, so he can research later. But he’ll just have to remember. “She can actually walk alright, using her braces and crutches, but she gets fatigued easily so we use the wheelchair when need to walk a ways.”

Which is pretty much everywhere in New York, Bucky thinks. God, getting around New York in a wheelchair must be a nightmare. It’s not a very accessible place. Bucky thinks about that — about how difficult things must be, just getting from one place to another. 

“Do — do you guys need anything? I mean…” Bucky trails off as Steve’s face goes immediately defensive. 

“We do fine. I take good care of her and she doesn’t need anyone’s charity.”

“That’s not what this is,” Bucky snaps. “I’m her dad. I want to take care of her. I want to take care of  _ you _ .”

“We don’t need to be taken care of,” Steve says firmly. 

Bucky shakes his head angrily. Fuck, he had almost forgotten that Steve could be like this. Steve had never been the kind of omega that would be content with being squirreled away in a den, all his needs taken care of. Despite Bucky’s pernicious hind brain, that’s not what he wants either. What he does want is to be able to use some of the large sums of money that Stark pays him to take care of his family. He doesn’t think that’s a ridiculous request.  

“I know you don’t,” Bucky says slowly, trying to be patient. Bucky takes a deep breath, thinking. Maybe it’s better not to push today — not when things are so raw. Bucky doesn’t have any intention of being an absent father, though, and Steve’s just going to have to deal with that. Instead, Bucky changes topics. “I want to spend time with her. I want to be a dad.”

Steve’s jaw goes a little tight. He looks away, eyes hooded as he thinks. “I want that too,” Steve admits. “I just want to make sure we do it right. I don’t want to overwhelm her.”

“Neither do I,” Bucky agrees. “And I’ll take your lead on this, okay? However, you think it makes sense to go forward.”

Steve nods. “I appreciate that.”

They exchange wary smiles. 

Then Bucky has a thought. 

His  _ ma.  _ What on earth is he going to tell his ma? “Shit,” he says aloud. “How do I explain this to my ma?”

Steve huffs a strained laugh. “Why do you think I didn’t come to dinner?” he jokes. 

Bucky rolls his eyes a little. 

Steve grins and then lets his face settle into something a little more serious. “I’ll explain it to her. I’ll...um. I can call and tell her if you want?”

Bucky shakes his head. Bucky’s ma hadn’t  _ said  _ anything, but Bucky knows she looks forward to having grandchildren one day. He wants to be the one to tell her — he wants to see her face. It’s a complicated situation. It  _ is.  _ She’ll be upset. But she will also be so, so happy. “No, I want to tell her.”

Steve licks his lips, looking nervous. “Do you think she’d want to meet Charlie sometime? I just — I don’t have any family, you know. I want Charlie to have that.”

“Of course she’ll want to meet Charlie!” Bucky says loudly, leaning forward. “So will my dad and all my siblings. She’s going to have more family than she knows what to do with.”

Steve smiles a little shyly down at the floor, “Good. Thanks. I mean, she has Sam’s family. They’ve as good as adopted her, but it’s different.”

Bucky bristles with jealousy, though he tries to squash it. He obviously doesn’t manage, because Steve gives him stern look. 

“Sam is great,” Steve says, soft but firm. “He’s so good with her. And I couldn’t have done this without him and Riley.” 

A spike of territorial instinct spikes through him. That’s  _ his  _ pup.  _ His  _ mate. 

Except that it’s not, Bucky tells himself firmly. Steve isn’t his anything. And while Charlie may be his genetically, that doesn’t mean she’s really  _ his _ . He’s practically a stranger to her. 

Steve must be able to smell the spike in alpha pheromones, because he says, “They’re a big part of her life and we wouldn’t be here today without them.”

Bucky hangs his head, nodding. He really should be in better control of his hindbrain. “I’m glad that you had them,” Bucky says and promises himself that he’s really going to try and mean it.

Steve nods too, but his lips are a thin line, like he can tell what Bucky’s feeling. 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says softly. “I’m trying, I am. This is — difficult. I still have feelings for you and —” Steve shakes his head, cutting Bucky off. He won’t meet Bucky’s eyes. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Bucky. Us. That’s...I mean. It could really hurt Charlie and I can’t risk it.”

But the way Steve is talking makes Bucky hope. Steve isn’t saying he doesn’t feel the same way.  _ Maybe,  _ Bucky thinks,  _ just maybe,  _ if Bucky can prove to Steve that he’s sticking around for the long haul, maybe they could be a  _ family  _ someday. 

A guy can dream. 

“Do you have any other questions about Charlie?” Steve says finally, twisting a paper napkin in his hands. 

“I...probably,” Bucky says with a sheepish smile. “But mostly I just want a chance to get to know her on my own, if that’s alright?” 

Steve smiles, bright and real, so Bucky figures it’s the right answer.

“Yes,” Steve says after a moment of grinning, “Yeah. Of course that’s alright. I guess we could — um we could start now? Go down and meet them at the zoo?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, standing up in his excitement. He wants to  _ know  _ her, wants to be close to her. He wants to start making up for all the years he missed. He wants to be the most amazing dad to her he can possibly be. 

Steve smiles wider, standing up and gathering his coat. He hesitates a moment. “I should tell you, she can be a little shy with unfamiliar people. Just  — don’t touch her or get in her space unless she initiates that. She has so many doctors and therapists and shit who just get all up in her space...so, yeah. She’s got a thing about touch.”

Bucky swallows around the sudden ache in his throat. He’s intimately familiar with that sort of issue. For months after he got out of the hospital, every little touch felt like an assault. Hypersensitive and vulnerable, trying desperately to stay sober, Bucky had snapped at anyone who touched him — including his friends and family. Imagining this little girl —  _ his  _ little girl — going through any part of that is crushing. 

“Of course,” Bucky rasps. “I understand.” 

Steve looks up, eyebrows folded down, studying Bucky intently. Suddenly, his expression grows sad. Steve doesn’t say anything about it, but Bucky knows he understands. Bucky wants to reach out and tuck him close, show him with his whole body how much he means to Bucky. 

He doesn’t though, but he doesn’t give up hope that one day he’ll be able to. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for taking the time to comment and leave kudos!! Y'all are the best. 
> 
> Note: I have limited personal experience of Cerebral Palsy. I am a special education teacher and have worked with students who have cerebral palsy, but mostly students with much more severe CP as well as intellectuals disabilities and other, related health concerns. I have done my best to give an honest, balanced portrayal but please let me know if I'm fucking it up! 
> 
> Cerebral Palsy is a very diverse disorder and people's experiences vary A LOT, so please don't take Charlie as representative.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all. I hope that you are continuing to enjoy this story. Just a note -- I have not asked for criticism or critique on this story. If you disagree with the way I am choosing to portray the character's emotional states and journeys, please stop reading, don't leave hateful messages. Also please note that we are only in the fourth chapter of (at minimum) nine chapters. Bucky has very limited knowledge and a lot of emotional reactions still to process. Be patient as he figures himself out. 
> 
> That said, many thanks to everyone who has left positive feedback and kudos. I really appreciate it. :) 
> 
> TW: Some discussion of alcohol cravings in this chapter.

They meet up with Sam, Riley, Charlie, and Kiara outside the tropic zone. 

“Hey man,” Sam greets as Bucky approaches. “I’m Sam.” He holds his hand out and gives a friendly, easy grin. This close, Bucky can smell Riley all over him — but he can smell Steve and Charlie on him too. Still, Bucky squashes his baser instincts as best he can, reminding himself that Sam is incredibly important to Steve and also not a threat in the least. 

So he shakes Sam’s hand and gives a grin of his own. “It’s nice to meet you,” Bucky says. 

Sam smiles a little too knowingly, but says, “You too. Steve talks about you so much I feel like I practically know you.”

Bucky grins, pleased by the idea that Steve has talked about him to his friends. Looking around, Bucky notices that Steve has gone over to Charlie and is crouching beside her and speaking in tones too quiet for Bucky to make out. He wants to know what Steve is telling her — does she know that Bucky is her dad? 

But before Bucky can step closer, Riley comes up, pushing the stroller. He walks with a bit of a limp, Bucky notices, and he abruptly remembers that Steve had said that one of his good friends was involved in the Stark Prosthetic trial. Trying not to stare, Bucky takes a quick guess — left leg, below the knee. Riley steps around it and holds out his hand, so Bucky turns his attention back to introductions. 

“I’m Riley,” he says, and then gesturing to the baby, “And this is Kiara.”

“Bucky,” Bucky greets, shaking his hand. “How old is she?”

“Eight months,” Sam says proudly, grinning affectionately at his daughter. She’s  _ adorable,  _ Bucky will give him that, with a head full of curls and plump cheeks. 

“She’s beautiful,” Bucky offers. 

“Thank you.” Riley smiles. “We certainly think so.”

Sam smiles brighter, looking positively smitten with his mate and child. A new surge of jealousy hits hard, different than before. God, Bucky wishes he and Steve were like this — mated with a child they’d raised together. 

Before Bucky can get too lost in his thoughts, Steve and Charlie come over to their little group. Bucky swallows against the anxiety sitting in his chest and crouches down, the way he had seen Steve do, so he can look her in the eye. “Hi Charlie,” he rasps. “I’m Bucky. It’s really nice to meet you.”

“Hi,” she says quietly. Steve places a hand on her slim shoulder, squeezes carefully. She ducks her head, rubbing her cheek on Steve’s arm. Bucky can scent both of them from where he is. She’s got the same scent undertone as Steve, something sweet like fresh apples, and winding through it is something earthy, like Bucky’s. Her scent is soft and muted, like all pre-pubescent children and it’s easy to smell everyone who’s scent marked her recently — Steve most frequently, but Sam and Riley too. It confirms what Steve had said about the importance of Sam and Riley in their lives. 

Bucky takes the opportunity to really look at her. The frizzy curls that frame her face are straight from Bucky’s ma. She’s got a little dimple in her left cheek, just like Tilly and Bucky’s dad. 

“Bucky,” Steve says softly and Bucky realizes he’s staring. He smiles apologetically and stands up. 

“How’s the zoo so far?” he asks, trying to make things as casual as possible. He wishes now that he’d asked Steve if Charlie knows that Bucky’s her dad. That knowledge would make things a lot easier. 

“Good!” Charlie enthuses, sitting up a little straighter in her chair. “We saw lemurs!”

“Cool,” Bucky agrees with a grin. 

“We were looking for the Poison Dart Frog,” she shares. Huffing a big sigh, she adds “But nobody saw one. We’re gonna go see the red pandas now — they like to hide too. Are you going to come with us?”

“Yeah, if that’s alright with you,” Bucky offers. 

She bites her lip, a little shy now. “Yeah, okay.”

Bucky smiles, a warmth settling in his chest. God, she’s so perfect. “Thanks for having me along.”

She blushes and shrugs a little, putting her hands on her wheels and turning her chair. “Papa, will you push me? The map says it’s a big hill!”

“Maybe I should, kiddo,” Sam says softly. “Your papa’s lungs are still a little crunchy.”

Bucky whips his head around to look at Steve, having visited him more than once in the hospital because of pneumonia. Steve sighs a little, but to Bucky’s surprise, nods his assent. “Uncle Sam’s probably right, honey. We’ll make him run it, how ‘bout that?”

Charlie sighs gustily, “I  _ guess. _ ”

Bucky worriedly scans Steve — he’s been in such good health since they were reunited that Bucky had almost forgotten to be cautious. He hadn’t thought about the cold air today  _ at all.  _ But while Steve looks a little tired, with deep bags under his eyes, otherwise he seems healthy. There’s good color in his cheeks and he’s breathing easy, as far as Bucky can tell. 

Steve catches him looking and rolls his eyes. “I’m  _ fine, _ ” he says emphatically. “Just getting over an upper respiratory thing and this one’s heavier than she looks.” Steve nudges Charlie’s chair with his foot playfully. 

“Hey!” She spins around, reaching out to push at Steve’s thigh. 

Steve grins and ducks in, blowing a raspberry on her cheek.

“Papa!” she protests, giggling. 

Something settles in Bucky’s chest. It’s light and heavy all at once, as a great joy and a great sorrow settle into his body. He’s so happy to be here with them and he’s so, so mad that he’s missed eight years of this, missed the chance to build a relationship like this. 

They settle down as Sam comes into the fray, taking hold of Charlie’s chair and spinning her in a wide circle. “C’mon, you. Bet we can beat Bucky to the top!” And he takes off before Bucky has a chance to process. 

“Hey!” he yelps, and gives chase. Sam winds expertly through the people, though there’s not many of them, given the December chill in the air. Bucky’s pretty sure he would have already crashed and as it is he almost runs into a couple kids as he gives chase. 

Sam is clearly in excellent shape, Bucky’s alpha brain bristles, and even pushing Charlie he beats Bucky by a decent amount. Bucky’s ready to go all prideful alpha about it when he sees Charlie’s grin, digging the single dimple into her cheek. It steals Bucky’s breath away, a little. 

“We beat you!” she crows. 

“I bow to your superior talent,” Bucky says, bowing with a dramatic flourish of his arm. Charlie giggles behind her hands. Bucky’s heart grows three sizes in his chest. 

Sam gives him an approving smile. Bucky reminds himself that as much as he needs to prove himself to Steve and Charlie, it’s going to be equally important to prove himself to their adopted family. 

Sam steps back from Charlie’s chair and she puts her hands on her wheels, turning toward the enclosure. “C’mon! Papa and Uncle Riley are gonna be  _ slow.  _ We can go look!” 

She takes the lead. Bucky’s impressed with her skills with the chair as she easily navigates to the glass barrier to the exhibit. She puts her breaks on and levers herself up. Bucky’s eyes flick to Sam’s face for signs of concern, but he’s relaxed. Bucky takes a breath. He itches to go home and do some research on cerebral palsy, so he can be informed and do things right. 

He also knows that’s ridiculous, cause it doesn’t matter what your diagnosis is, it’s going to look different for every person and what he really needs to do is get to know Charlie and watch the people who are comfortable with her — then he’ll know what kind of help to offer and when to stand back and let her do her own thing. 

But as it is, there’s just a baseline sense of worry that isn’t even really about  _ her.  _

Bucky doesn’t know how to be a dad. He’s not  _ prepared  _ to be a dad, but he’s been dropped into it and that’s his reality now. 

Bucky comes up on her left side, leaning against the fence. “Do you spot them?”

“Nuh-uh.” She shakes her head, sending her curls whipping back and forth. She pushes her glasses up her nose a little and squints down at the enclosure. Keeping her hands on the fence, she shuffles sideways to the sign and ducks her head to read it. Bucky can’t stop staring at her. 

“Steve lucked out with her,” Sam says softly, coming up beside him. He’s got a sappy smile on his face, not unlike the one he got when he was looking at Kiara.  _ He really loves her,  _ Bucky thinks. The thought feels good and bad all at once. Good, that Charlie has people who love her. Bad, because Bucky wishes he knew her and loved her the way Sam does. 

Bucky knows he’ll fall for her hook, line, and sinker given even half a chance. But the truth of the matter, he’s looking at a pup who’s a stranger to him. 

A stranger with half his DNA. 

God, his head hurts. There’s just so much to process. He’s not sure how to feel or what to do. He doesn’t even know where to start. 

Fuck, he really wants a drink. 

Bucky takes a deep breath in through his nose, suppressing the urge. He  _ doesn’t  _ really. His life is on track. This is a meteor colliding that he didn’t expect, but he can handle it. He has the fucking skills to handle this without falling off the wagon. 

“Yeah,” he finally responds. “She seems like a really good kid.”

“She is,” Sam affirms. “One of the best.”

Bucky hates that he needs an outsider to tell him that about his daughter. He really, really does.

*

It’s a nice, but emotionally exhausting afternoon. By the time they come back around to the entrance of the zoo, Bucky feels like he’s been hit by a truck. 

Charlie is clever and sweet. She reads the exhibit information out for them each time they stop, asking thoughtful questions, and insisting on immediate smartphone research to find the answers if the adults are unable to provide them. When they stop for a break and watch the sea lions get fed, she cuddles into Steve’s side on a bench. Steve pets her hair and she grins. 

She’s everything Bucky could have ever wanted in a daughter. But it’s hard to really feel like she’s his. 

The longer the afternoon wears on, the more Bucky feels like he’s standing on the other side of a very thick glass wall. Everything feels so overwhelming and he feels like he’s just sidestepping it in his head, just refusing to feel it. 

It’s a feeling he’s familiar with and it scares him. 

“I think I should probably head home,” Bucky says as they come to a stop. Steve looks up at him, a little worry in his eyes. He glances around at the rest of their group. 

Sam clears his throat. “C’mon over here, Charlie. Let’s go see the sea lions one more time before we leave.” She glances between Steve and Bucky, frowning a little, but follows Sam over without complaint, Riley and a now awake and babbling Kiara following.

“Are you okay?” Steve asks softly. 

“Yes,” Bucky says automatically. Then he shakes his head. “No. No, I’m not. This is just  — it’s a lot to process.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, biting his lip and slipping his hands into his pockets. 

“And I wasn’t lying about wanting to be a part of her life — a part of both of your lives. Or about my feelings for you.” Steve frowns a little deeper, shoulders hitching up by his ears. Bucky glances away, unable to take another rejection today. “I’m just. I’m really mad, Steve. I’m really mad you kept me from her all these years. She’s my pup and she doesn’t even know me from Joe Shmoe. I’ve missed the chance to watch her grow up, to build a relationship with her.”

“I know,” Steve says in a soft, tight voice. 

“I don’t think you do,” Bucky says. “I don’t think you can imagine what this feels like to me. You — you  _ stole  _ this from me. I’m never gonna get back the first eight years of her life.” A stone had lodged in Bucky’s throat. To his shame, he feels tears welling up. He blinks them away. He’s not gonna cry, not here, not at the fucking zoo with Sam and Riley and Charlie right there. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispers, but it doesn’t change anything. All the sorries in the world couldn’t change things. 

Bucky nibbles on the inside of his cheek and takes a deep breath. “I just need some time to process, to figure this out.”

“Of course,” Steve says, looking up at him with wide blue eyes, earnest as anything. “Take all the time you need.”

Bucky nods sharply. He looks over at Charlie — Sam’s lifted her up so she can see better and Riley’s tucking a curl behind her cheek. Bucky  _ aches _ . Steve’s friends are more her parents than Bucky is. 

“Does she know?” Bucky asks, speaking the question he’s been wondering all afternoon. “That I’m her dad?”

Steve sucks on his bottom lip, scuffing his shoe over the ground for a second, before looking up and meeting Bucky’s eyes. His gaze is solemn. “Yeah, she does. I didn’t want to keep it from her. I wanted to be as honest as I could. She always knew about you.”

Bucky’s eyes return to Charlie. She glances back. When she sees him looking she smiles a little and waves shyly. Bucky waves back. 

“Okay,” Bucky mumbles. “Okay. I — I just need to go home for a bit. Process. Call my fucking sponsor,” he laughs dryly. 

“Are you —” Steve starts, and then hesitates, teeth biting at his bottom lip again. There’s a sudden spike of anxious omega pheromones in the air. “Are you going to be okay?”

“I’m not gonna go get a drink if that’s what you mean,” Bucky snaps, a little harsher than he means. Steve reels back and Bucky feels a flush shame. Steve’s just trying to help, Bucky knows that. He’s never quite gotten over his instinctual defensiveness. He knows that Steve isn’t asking because he thinks Bucky lacks self-control. Steve can’t even be remembering what it was like when Bucky was drinking all the time, thank god for small mercies. He’s just concerned for Bucky. 

Taking a deep breath, Bucky softens his tone. “Sorry. I know you’re just worried. I’ll be fine. I know how to take care of myself.”

Steve nods slowly. “You’ll call? If you need anything?”

Bucky nods, not saying that he doesn’t think that it would really help in this case, since all of his confusing emotions are directed at Steve. “I will. And I’ll text about a time to get together. I want to see Charlie again soon, if that’s alright.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, though there’s still a worried crease between his brows. “Yeah, of course.” He brightens a little, and adds, “She’s actually got a basketball game next Friday. I’m sure she’d love if you could come to that, if you’d be interested.”

Bucky finds himself smiling, excited. “Yeah, yeah I’d love that.”

“Great,” Steve smiles. “I’ll text you the details?”

“Perfect,” Bucky agrees. 

There’s a moment of silence which quickly gets a little awkward. 

“I’m just gonna say bye to Charlie,” Bucky mumbles, ducking towards her. Sam settles her back in her wheelchair as Bucky approaches, nodding his head in Bucky’s direction. 

Charlie looks up and smiles when she sees him. It’s still a little shy, a little tentative, but it fills Bucky with a fragile sense of hope. They may not be able to get back the eight years she’s already lived, but there’s still time to build a relationship. 

“I’m gonna head home now,” Bucky tells her, crouching down again. He leaves a respectful distance between them, remembering what Steve had said about her dislike of touch from unfamiliar people. “But your papa invited me to your basketball game this Friday, if that’s alright with you?”

“Yeah,” she says quietly, blushing a little. “I’m not very good yet.”

“That’s okay.” Bucky smiles at her. “As long as you have fun, right?”

She nods. “Papa takes me for pizza after, with my friend Shanika. Will you come to that too?”

Bucky’s grin grows, the hope growing right along with it. She wants him in her life. It’s going to work out. “I’d love too.”

She smiles, ducking her eyes down. 

“I’ll see you then, okay?” he tells her. “Have a good week, Charlie.”

“I’ll see you Friday,” she says firmly, like she’s reminding herself and she smiles up at him, brighter than the sun. He wants to scoop her into a hug, but he doesn’t, just says one more goodbye, shakes hands with Sam and Riley, and leaves. 

He looks back at least twice as he walks. The first time Steve is crouching in front of Charlie’s chair, the next time he’s got her scooped up into a hug. 

Bucky doesn’t look back again after that. 

He texts Nat on his way home, knowing that she’s probably out with Clint, but knowing that he needs to not be home alone right now. They keep their apartment dry, just because it’s easier for him, so he’s not worried he’s gonna slip. Clint sometimes brings beer, because it’s been long enough that Bucky’s got a handle on it, but day to day it’s just better if there’s nothing on hand. In a moment like this, though, even that might not be enough. He needs the support of his friends, he’s not ashamed to admit it. 

He walks by no less than five liquor stores on his way home. 

Pulling his three-year chip out of his wallet, Bucky reminds himself that he really doesn’t need to drink. Drinking might quiet the storm in his head for a while, but it won’t solve anything. It’ll just make things more complicated. 

Natasha’s waiting on the couch for him when he gets home. He never asks her to come home unless it’s needed, and she knows that. Clint’s there too, but he’s in the kitchen and a quick glance shows he’s taken his hearing aids out — giving them privacy until he’s invited in. 

Bucky’s throat gets tight. He has really amazing friends. 

Natasha doesn’t ask any questions at first. She lets him take his shoes and jacket off, disappear into his room to disconnect his arm and place it in it’s charging port. Releasing the arm makes him aware of tension he’s been holding in his neck and shoulders and he rolls them before heading back to the living room. 

Later he’ll do his PT stretches and maybe soak it, but right now his head’s so loud he can hardly feel the pain. 

He lowers himself on to the couch curls up next to Natasha. She pulls the blanket his ma knit him while he was in the hospital around his shoulders, puts her arm around him and doesn’t say anything. With the heel of her palm she rubs the place on his shoulder blade where he gets the tightest. 

Slowly, ever so slowly, Bucky starts to shake apart. 

Eight fucking years. 

He hadn’t heard her first word or seen her first steps. He hadn’t been woken in the night for midnight feedings, or diaper changes, or nightmares, or just for comfort. He would never know the weight of her curled in one arm. He’d never hold a bottle to her lips or feel her baby soft hair. He’d never hear her babble  _ dada  _ at him or feel her tiny fist around his finger. 

He’d missed three first days of schools, every parent-teacher conference, every school play, every basketball game. Eight birthdays, eight cakes and out of tune  _ happy birthdays _ , forty-two birthday candles. 

Eight fucking years. 

“Get Clint,” Bucky rasps, not willing to tell this story twice tonight. Natasha gets up and goes to fetch him and they both return to the couch, bracketing him. Clint’s not big on touch, but he presses his side into Bucky’s side while Nat wraps her arm around him again. 

Bucky waits until Clint puts his hearing aids in, turns his face towards him a little, so Clint can see Bucky’s lips too. 

“The night before Steve left, back then. We had sex. He was in pre-heat. He got pregnant.” Bucky recites these facts dully, too exhausted to present them any other way. 

Clint breathes in sharply at the same time that Natasha lets out a slow, purposeful breath. 

“She’s eight now. Her name is Charlie. She’s so —” Bucky’s voice cracks. A tear slips down his cheek. He brushes it away angrily. “She’s so fucking beautiful. God.”

“Jesus,” Clint whispers, pushing his hair back. He looks shell-shocked, which is about how Bucky feels. 

“I’m a dad,” Bucky says. It’s the first time he’s said it aloud. “I’m a fucking dad.”

He meets Natasha’s eyes. Her gray eyes are serious, steady. She knows what’s coming. 

“He didn’t tell me,” Bucky whispers. Natasha signs it for Clint, not making him repeat it louder. “Fuck. All these years. He had my ma’s number and he never even tried! That’s why he stopped talking to me. He found out he was pregnant —” 

Abruptly Bucky stands up and starts to pace, hands curled into furious fists by his side. 

“What did he think? That I would just abandon him? That I wouldn’t do everything in my goddamn power to help him? And instead he just — he just decided I didn’t get to be a part of her life. If I hadn’t run into them I  _ still  _ wouldn’t know. He’d have just tried to keep it secret —”

Bucky whirls around. “That wasn’t for him to decide!” he shouts. “That wasn’t his decision to make!”

Bucky suddenly realizes he’s crying and he dashes the tears away. 

“Do you want a dose of reality or do you want validation?” Natasha asks. She’s somehow remained still and calm, though Bucky can see the fury and upset in her eyes. Natasha’s a beta, but if she were an alpha Bucky knows he would be able to smell her protective, angry pheromones on the other side of the apartment. 

Bucky makes himself take a few slow breaths, steadying himself. After giving himself a moment to think, he says, “Validation and then reality, please.”

“It was shitty of him not to tell you,” she says. 

“ _ Really  _ shitty,” Clint agrees, anger clear in the sharp way he forms the signs. 

“And it sucks that you missed eight years. You would have been an amazing dad. I’m sorry you missed out. Steve made a mistake that hurt all of you. You deserved better. She deserved better.”

Bucky nods, jaw tense. 

“I’m furious at him for not telling you, for dropping out of your life like that. It was the wrong thing to do.” Her voice is icy and Bucky shudders a little. He realizes that it’s going to be hard to get Natasha to trust Steve again after this and that hurts. 

Because as much as he’s hurting, as angry as he’s feeling, he still loves Steve. He still wants Steve to be in his life in any way that he can have him. Every part of him, from alpha hindbrain to logical frontal cortex agrees that they have to find a way through this. The alpha part of him is roaring — there’s a potential mate and a pup out there.  _ His  _ mate and pup. 

“But,” Natasha starts, voice still firm and steady, “he was fifteen. He was probably scared. His whole life had just changed. It’s not an  _ excuse _ ,” she clarifies. “And he should have told you months ago, once you reconnected. 

“Being angry isn’t going to help you move forward,” she says bluntly. “The past is what it is. The fact of the matter is that you have the chance to be in her life now. Try and focus on that.”

Bucky nods slowly. It’s hard to hear. He wants to just be angry, to feel the upset and the grief and not have to reign it in. But he knows if he doesn’t control it he’ll spiral into a place he doesn’t ever want to go back to. He has a beautiful, wonderful daughter to get to know. He has a responsibility to her to try and make up for the lost years, even though those years weren’t his fault. 

He turns his gaze to Clint. 

Clint sighs a little and rubs his jaw, he glances at Natasha. His omega scent is sharp and unhappy, which makes the alpha in Bucky rumble a little, but he’s well used to checking his alpha instincts around Clint. 

“You know I don’t have great examples, when it comes to parents,” Clint signs. “Before Phil...well it was one shit show after the other, wasn’t it? It matters that you’re there, ‘course it does. But it matters more how you’re there, y’know? And you’re gonna be there for her. You’re gonna be the best dad ever. So those eight years? They don’t really matter. Not in the long run.”

“Can I hug you?” Bucky asks. 

Clint smiles, a little apologetic. “Not right now, man. Thinking about this shit is hard.”

Bucky nods, taking it in stride. “Thank you,” he says earnestly, instead. He turns his gaze to Natasha. “Both of you.”

Clint waves it away and Natasha just smiles, a little thing, the smile she saves for him and Clint. “Tell us about her?” Natasha asks. 

Bucky grins, wide and easy, “God, she’s so fucking smart!”

And he’s off. 

*

Later that night, after he’s talked to his sponsor, eaten a proper dinner, and soaked in the tub, Bucky sits down in front of his laptop to do some research. He doesn’t know  _ anything  _ about cerebral palsy, not really, and he’s determined to learn as much as he possibly can. 

He jots down a couple of his key questions — mostly about complications and what he can expect Charlie to be able to do on her own — and sets to work. 

There’s  _ a lot  _ out there, but mostly what he learns is that there’s a huge range in how people are affected and everything is related to how severe someone’s CP is. Bucky rubs his forehead, frustrated and somehow more confused than when he started. He has all sorts of new questions, too, and a whole new set of worries on top of that, about surgeries and procedures and treatments and medication. 

He wonders how Steve afforded everything, all on his own for years and years. How many times had they scraped by when Bucky and his family could have helped? That hurts to think about, but it also reminds Bucky that he’s got to tell his folks about this, sooner rather than later. He opens his schedule for the next couple days and decides he can leave work a little early on Tuesday and pop down to Brooklyn to see his parents. He’s more than a little nervous to tell them, but he’s excited too. 

With a sigh, Bucky looks down at his notes. His research hasn’t necessarily told him anything about Charlie, in particular, but it gives him a place to start. Maybe he can go down to see Steve during lunch tomorrow, ask some of his questions. He wants badly to do this right and not fuck it up. 

It’s kind of a terrifying prospect because he feels like there are thousands of ways he could mess everything up. He can’t risk losing Charlie and Steve, not now that he finally has them in his life. He’ll do whatever it takes to keep them in his life. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally blanked on Wednesday's update. It has been a _week_. Anyway, here is chapter five.

Bucky lets himself in the front door of his parent’s brownstone, shouting, “Hello? Anybody home?”

“Jamie!” Bucky’s ma calls, sounding delighted. “We’re in the kitchen! You’re just in time for dinner!” 

Bucky licks his lips nervously and tucks his keys away, heading towards the back of the house. He takes a deep breath as he does, letting the familiar scent of his family and home settle on him like a warm blanket. Nate and Tilly’s sharp, hormonal teenage scents lay over his parents’ softer, more complex scents. 

By the time Bucky steps into the kitchen, some of his anxiety is starting to fade. He’s got a wonderful, loving family. It’s going to work out. In the kitchen, his dad’s bent over the stove while his ma is setting the table. She smiles at him when he comes in, quickly setting down a fourth plate so she can come over and give him a hug. 

He leans down, pressing his nose into her hair so he can scent her properly. Coming home — the smell of his ma and his dad, of Nate and Tilly — always makes tension melt out of him. He’s suddenly struck by just how much he loves them all, and a hot coal lodges in his throat as his eyes start to burn. He pulls away, swallowing back the tears, and turns for a quick hug with his dad. Bucky scents him too, but quicker, which is all they can really tolerate as two alphas. 

“Where’s Tilly and Nate?” Bucky asks. He sticks his hands in his pockets, hoping to hide the nervous trembling. 

But nothing gets by his ma. She narrows her eyes at him. “Tilly’s upstairs doing homework and Nate’s in the den. Why, what’s the matter?”

Bucky hunches his shoulders. “I have to tell you guys something. I — uh. I don’t want the kids to know yet, okay? Not until I figure out how to tell them.”

Bucky’s ma’s face goes all worried, lines digging into her familiar features. Bucky’s dad, on the other hand, goes perfectly still. 

“It’s not bad news,” Bucky rushes to assure, realizing that he’s scared them. He doesn’t want to freak them out, he’s just not sure how to break the news. “Um. Can you guys sit down, maybe?”

“You’re not actually selling that this isn’t bad news,” Bucky’s dad says dryly. Bucky quirks a grin, trying to appear reassuring. By the look on his dad’s face, he’s failing. 

“Right, so,” Bucky starts. “Um. You guys remember Steve Rogers. Obviously. And you remember when he disappeared, a couple months after he left? And you guys called the home and they said he didn’t want to talk to me and all.”

“We remember,” Bucky’s ma says, voice low with anger. Bucky screws up his lips, nodding. 

“Well,” he says. He pauses, fidgets, decides the best thing to do is to just  _ say  _ it. “It turns out, uh, he stopped talking to me because he was pregnant.”

Bucky’s ma’s eyebrows fly into her hairline. Bucky’s dad sets his hands, palm down, firmly on the table and says, “What.”

“He was pregnant. With — uh. With my pup.”

“But —” Bucky’s ma stutters. “When? He wasn’t in heat —  _ oh. Oh. _ ”

“He was in preheat,” Bucky says needlessly. It was rare, but omegas could get pregnant during their preheat — especially young omegas. But Steve hadn’t gotten to the point in his heat where anyone had thought to separate them. That came later, when they were already separated. 

“He was  _ pregnant, _ ” Bucky’s ma says in a whisper. Bucky glances up at them, body coiled tight. Bucky’s dad face is still as slate, while a hundred emotions run across his ma’s. “That means?” she looks up, meeting his eyes. 

“I have a daughter,” Bucky says softly. “Her name’s Charlie. She turned eight in July.”

“Charlie,” Bucky’s dad repeats. “Charlie.” 

His ma is speechless, staring at him with wide eyes. Tears are starting to well up in the corner and Bucky feels his eyes start to burn too. He’s always cried near as easy as his ma, not like Becca who takes after their dad. 

“It’s short for Charlotte.”

Bucky’s dad nods, slow, steady. Bucky matches his breath to his dad’s motions. 

“Do you have a picture?” his ma finally asks. It hits Bucky like a knife to the gut, because he  _ doesn’t _ . He doesn’t have a picture of Charlie to show her grandparents. And why would he? He’s only spent one afternoon with her. 

He swallows through a tight throat and shakes his head. “I’ll text Steve,” he mumbles, whipping his phone out. 

Quickly he taps,  _ Can you send me a picture of Charlie? My parents want to see her. _

“She’s beautiful,” Bucky says. “She looks a lot like Becca, except she’s got Steve’s eyes. And she’s so smart.”

Bucky’s ma loses her fight with tears, while Bucky’s dad laughs, a brittle, fragile thing. “God, I’m too young to be a grandfather,” he says, shaking his head. 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky mumbles. His parents look up at him, confused. Bucky fixes his gaze on the floor. “I mean, I’m not really, cause she’s perfect, but you guys taught me better than to knock somebody up and I know it made things so hard for Steve —”

“No,” Bucky’s dad says firmly. “Let’s not go down that line of thinking. You have a daughter. What should or shouldn’t have happened doesn’t matter. You have a daughter, we have a granddaughter. And maybe this wasn’t when or how we were expecting it, but I know I speak for both of us when I say that we want grandchildren and we’re glad to welcome her into our family.”

Bucky’s ma nods emphatically. Then, frowning, she asks, “Why didn’t Steve tell you? Did you even know he had a pup?”

Bucky shakes his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know. He’s got reasons, but they’re stupid. He says he didn’t want to ruin my life, like it could have —”

“You don’t know that,” his dad interrupts. “Certainly things didn’t go the way anyone expected after Steve left.” A hot flush of shame rushes across the back of Bucky’s neck, thinking of the years after Steve had left, how stupid and cruel and awful he had been, of his spiral into alcoholism, of all the ways he had nearly wrecked his own and his parents’ lives. “But we don’t know what would have happened if Steve told you. In all likelihood, he would’ve had to have stayed in the Omega Home anyway. And a pup is no small thing — there’s no telling how you would’ve handled it then.”

Bucky hadn’t framed it in quite that way before, but it helps to think about it like that. He  _ is  _ ready to be a good parent now and there’s every likelihood he wouldn’t have been a very good parent then. Maybe the stress of being a teenage parent would have led him to alcohol and poor life choices too, only with more people to disappoint. 

Bucky’s phone buzzes and he looks down at it — Steve’s sent a message with a couple attachments. Bucky opens it immediately, finding a couple pictures of Charlie. He stares at them for a long minute. 

“Did he send pictures?” Bucky’s ma asks anxiously, going to get up to see. As she does, Bucky realizes that at least two of the three pictures show either Charlie’s braces or her wheelchair. He clicks off the screen. 

“Yeah, I just have to explain — Charlie was born really premature.” Bucky’s ma breathes in sharply, preparing herself, even as Bucky’s dad goes still again. “She’s okay,” Bucky reassures. “But she has cerebral palsy, so in some of the pictures she’s in her wheelchair or you can see her braces. But she’s okay, otherwise.”

His parents look distressed. It’s not what he wants. “I swear,” Bucky says. “Steve says she’s real healthy.” Bucky had gone down during lunch earlier in the day, with his list of questions about Charlie’s CP. Steve had shaken his head a little fondly and answered each and every question on Bucky’s list. “She’s got asthma, like Steve, but it’s not nearly as bad as Steve’s.”

“But she needs a wheelchair?” Bucky’s ma asks, voice a little shaky. “She’s — I mean.” Bucky’s ma looks at his arm, and he knows what she’s thinking  _ she’s disabled.  _ And she is, but Bucky doesn’t want them to see her that way. He doesn’t want his parents to be thinking about his disabled daughter. He wants them to  _ see  _ her. 

They both had a really hard time when he lost his arm. They’d all had to work really hard to get through it. Bucky’s ma, especially, had a tendency to baby him, to want to take care of everything that was even a little bit hard. It’s why Bucky had initially moved in with Natasha, just to have space to figure it all out on his own. She’s better now, they all are. 

“Just for distances,” Bucky says. “Steve says she gets around with crutches most of the time, but if they’re out in the city or something, she uses her chair. Here —” Bucky brings up the pictures, knowing that once they see them, they’ll see what he sees: his perfect, wonderful daughter. 

The first one’s a close up of her, grinning broadly at the camera, her hair pinned back like it had been the day he met her. He hands his phone over to his ma. She gasps a little, covering her mouth. “Oh, Jamie. She looks just like you. Oh, she’s  _ beautiful _ .”

“Yeah,” Bucky breathes as his ma hands the phone over to his dad. His dad stares for a long minute, eyes shiny. God, if his dad starts to cry Bucky’s really going to lose it. 

Taking his phone back, Bucky brings up the next one — this one of her in a basketball jersey, seated in a wheelchair. Not her usual one, the wheels are tilted at an angle towards her and it’s all black. Already, Bucky guesses that given the choice, Charlie always picks bright colors. He likes that he knows that about her. 

“She plays on the borough-wide wheelchair basketball league,” he says proudly. They’re a pretty athletic family — Bucky had played baseball and hockey through his high school years. Becca had been on the swim team, and Nate and Tilly both do basketball in the winter months. “I’m going to see her play on Friday.”

Bucky’s ma reaches her hand out for the phone. There’s something in her face like she’s bracing herself, but when she sees the picture, she smiles. “We’ll have to get her and Tilly together for a game.” 

Bucky perks up at that idea. God, his sisters and brother are aunts and uncles now! He thinks about taking Charlie and Tilly out for a game of basketball and grins. “That would be great!” 

“I’ve never seen wheelchair basketball,” Bucky’s dad comments. “I’ll have to look it up.”

Bucky smiles a little wider, taking the phone back. He flips to the next photo — she’s standing outside a brick building, smiling. She’s wearing what must be her school uniform, her hair done up in two pigtails with brightly colored scrunchies holding them in place. Over long white socks, she’s wearing her galaxy printed braces. She’s leaning on two purple forearm crutches — it’s the first time Bucky’s seen them. 

“This must be her first day of school,” Bucky guesses, handing the phone again. 

“What grade is she in?” his dad asks.

“Third. Steve said she goes to a charter school in the Bronx, which is where they’re living these days.”

“Oh, that’s so far,” Bucky’s ma says with a sigh. Bucky shakes his head, laughing at her a little. 

“They could live out of the city altogether,” Bucky’s dad reminds her, rolling his eyes playfully. “Or out of state.”

“Oh, you two. You know how hard it is to get from one side of this city to the other. But we’ll have to have her and Steve over for dinner soon — oh the stairs.” His ma frowns all of a sudden and Bucky does too, thinking about the steep set of stairs leading up to the brownstone he grew up in. Fuck, his apartment is the same and the elevator only sometimes works. 

“And what about getting to the other floors?” his ma adds. “We’ll have to see what we can do, George. There must be ways to get her up and down the stairs easily.”

Bucky feels like he’s going to cry, watching his parents immediately accept her and starting to plan for her to come visit them here, thinking about what she’ll need to navigate his childhood home. 

“She’s still pretty little,” Bucky says roughly. “At least for now, dad and I should be able to get her up and down if we need too. We’ll figure it out. Steve and I decided it would be best to take things slowly, for her sake. We don’t want to overwhelm her, you know?”

Both his parents look a little disappointed, but his dad says, “Yes, that makes sense. Well, we want to meet her just as soon as she’s ready, alright? And you better take some video of her game this Friday — I want to see her play!”

Bucky nods, tears in his eyes. He ducks his head and wipes them away with the heels of his hands. This has gone better than he ever could have imagined. 

Just then, Tilly and Nate come tumbling down the stairs and into the kitchen, pushing and shoving at each other playfully, yelling, “Ma, when’s dinner?”

“Oh! Hey Bucky!” Nate says, upon noticing him. He comes over for a brief hug and Bucky takes a minute to scent him, feeling really fond of his family. Unfortunately, Nate’s approaching his heat and the pre-heat scent of a related omega is just not appealing in the least. 

“Ugh,” Bucky says dramatically, pulling back and making a face, really just to tease Nate, not because he smells that bad. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Nate groans, punching him in the shoulder and heading over to the table. “You’re no spring flower yourself.” Nate collapses at his usual place and immediately asks their ma what’s for dinner. 

While his ma fields Nate’s unending appetite, Bucky greets Tilly — her neutral beta scent is much easier to bear. “What are you doing here?” she asks, as they all start to settle around the table.

“What?” Bucky says with mock offense. “I’m not allowed to pop in for a visit?”

“Not on a Tuesday,” she says. “You hate rush hour traffic.”

That is a truth, there’s no denying it. Bucky glances up at his parents, who nod reassuringly. Nate and Tilly both notice. They both go still. 

They were both plenty old enough to remember the days when news from Bucky was always about falling off the wagon, or a DUI, or something like that. They were both plenty old enough to remember when his parents sat them down, probably at this very table, to tell them that Bucky had been in an accident. That he’d lost his arm. 

Bucky swallows tightly. One of his biggest regrets from those years is the way he’d treated his siblings. It had taken years to rebuild their relationships, to build trust again. But it all still has a lasting effect on them, Bucky knows that. Tilly’s been seeing a therapist since she was twelve. Nate wouldn’t touch a drop of alcohol if you paid him. 

“Your brother had some good news to share with us,” Bucky’s dad says, interrupting the tense atmosphere. Shoulders relax. 

“Excellent news,” Bucky’s ma says, starting to scoop salad on to everyone’s plate. “Do you want to share, Jamie?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, but his voice comes out rough. “Yeah,” he repeats, clearer. “So you guys remember that I reconnected with Steve Rogers recently?” Luckily, his younger siblings were a little too young to put Steve together with Bucky’s path of self-destruction. Becca’s a different story, but he’ll cross that bridge when he gets to it. “So uh. Steve and I —” fuck. How does he tell his younger siblings he had a one night stand with his best friend, who they practically grew up with? He takes a deep breath. His dad shoots him an amused glance and Bucky glares back. “Steve and I slept together before he left.”

“Ew,” Tilly says, wrinkling her nose. “I don’t need to know that.” Tilly had been eight when Steve left and she had idolized him, so Bucky’s not shocked at her reaction. Nate just cackles. 

“Anyway!” Bucky says loudly. “Steve got pregnant.”

“Oh,” Nate says softly as the room goes still. Tilly’s hazel eyes are wide and astonished. 

“Yeah,” Bucky murmurs. “Yeah. I have a daughter. Her name’s Charlie.”

“Wow,” Tilly breathes. “Okay. Um, wow.”

“Fuck,” Nate swears at the same moment. 

Bucky’s ma shoots him a stern look, scolding, “Language.”

Nate nods, ‘cause he’s a good kid, and asks, “So Steve would have been, what, seventeen?”

“Sixteen,” Bucky corrects, voice a little hoarse. After his dad’s words earlier, he abruptly realizes just how young that is. God, Steve was still a kid himself. Still living in the Omega Home, not even a legal adult. “Seventeen when she was born.” 

The whole table is still at that. Steve would have been Nate’s age. 

Bucky clears his throat and pushes through, wanting to get everything on the table. “She was born really premature,” he tells them, fixing his gaze on his plate. “She’s got cerebral palsy, but otherwise she’s really healthy. She’s smart as a whip, too.” 

After a minute of quiet, Bucky looks up. Tilly’s eyes are wide, still processing. Nate’s on his phone — probably googling, Bucky thinks fondly. 

“We’re going to move pretty slow, with me getting to know Charlie. Cause we don’t want to overwhelm her. So it may be a while before you guys get to meet her, but I’m hoping you’ll want to be a part of her life.”

“Of course we will!” Nate says, almost angry. 

Tilly nods emphatically. “She’s my niece, and we all know I’m going to be the cool aunt!”

Bucky laughs — half with relief and half with overwhelming joy and love for his family. He can’t wait for Charlie to meet them. 

Now there’s just Becca to tell. 

*

He’s  _ not  _ avoiding telling his sister. At least, that’s what Bucky tells himself as he waits for the bus outside Stark Tower on Friday afternoon. Steve has already left for the day, so Bucky’s meeting them at the Bronx Boys and Girls Club at 6:00. Bucky checks his watch, even though he  _ knows  _ he’s given himself plenty of time. 

The bus ride gives him plenty of time to worry, though. It’s only his second time seeing his daughter, and it’s his first time knowing that she knows who he is to her. There’s a pressure that wasn’t there during their first meeting. Maybe it’s just that Bucky’s had time to prepare himself — and to work himself up. 

Just as he gets off the bus, his phone buzzes — it’s a text from Nat, reading  _ breathe.  _ He does, smiling a little. He’s got support. This is going to work out. 

Following the directions on his phone, Bucky finds the Boys and Girls Club pretty easily. Once there, he follows the signs, texting Steve as he does so. The game’s in a gym at the back of the building. It’s not as crowded as Bucky was expecting and it’s easy to spot Steve, sitting in the bleachers with a few unfamiliar people. Steve catches his eyes as he comes in and waves and Bucky quickly heads over to them. 

It’s different than being at the zoo. All the kids on the court are in wheelchairs — Bucky spots Charlie towards the back, chatting animatedly with another girl — and they zip around the gym with ease. Steve seems more relaxed too, Bucky notices as he climbs the bleachers. Steve stands up, greeting Bucky with a quick hug. They both tuck their heads in, scenting each other, and Bucky relaxes a little, breathing in Steve’s happy omega scent. 

“Thanks for coming,” Steve says. “It’s all she’s been able to talk about all week.”

Bucky beams a little, hearing that. He glances down at the court again. This time, Charlie spots him. She bounces in her chair a little, waving excitedly. Bucky waves back. 

“Thanks for inviting me,” Bucky says. 

Steve smiles and steps back, introducing the people he’s sitting with. “This is Tamicka, and this is Isabel, Ivan, and their son Yariel. Tamicka’s daughter Shanika is the girl next to Charlie.” Steve points to a black girl, hair done up in a complex twist of braids. She’s wearing braces, like Charlie. “And Paola’s up front.” 

Bucky follows Steve’s gaze to another girl — this one clearly older than Charlie and her friend Shanika.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” Bucky says, holding his hand out and shaking with the adults, who greet him in return. They all seem friendly enough, but Bucky finds himself feeling a little ill at ease. After he sits down between Steve and Ivan, he realizes it’s because he doesn’t know if these people know he’s Charlie’s dad. And if they do, do they know why he hasn’t been around? Do they think he’s some deadbeat? 

Steve leans close, distracting Bucky from his increasingly anxious thoughts. “Shanika and Charlie have been friends for a couple years now — we lived on the same block as them for a year, right when we moved to New York, which was a happy coincidence.”

Bucky nods, turning his head a little to look at the girls again. They’re all wheeling out onto the court now — all of them are using chairs like the one Charlie had been in for the picture, with the wheels slanted dramatically in towards midline. Tighter turning radius, Bucky imagines, looking at them now. And faster, too. Charlie’s visibly a little nervous and keeps glancing up at them. Steve gives her a big thumbs up and she smiles. 

“This is her first year playing,” Steve explains, eyes still glued to her. Bucky’s eyes are stuck on Steve. For the first time he thinks,  _ God, Steve’s a great dad.  _ “A lot of the bigger players will get right up in her space, which makes her nervous. But she’s sticking to it anyway. She’s a tough cookie,” Steve says with a fond smile. 

What must it have taken, Bucky wonders, to raise Charlie all on his own? To not only have to figure out how to care for a child when you were still a kid yourself but deal with all her special needs too? And not just deal with them, raise a kid who thrives in spite of them? How hard must Steve have worked to give Charlie all of these opportunities, to create the bright, happy child Bucky’s met?

Slowly, Bucky turns back to the game, mind churning slowly, processing. Some of his anger at Steve is starting to fade. Living it — living how hard it must have been — it must have seemed clear to Steve that he was making Bucky’s life easier by not telling him. Bucky doesn’t  _ agree _ . But he thinks he can almost understand. 

And if Bucky’s really, really honest with himself, he’s not sure he could’ve managed it back then. His dad’s words struck him hard. Bucky wasn’t strong then, not the way he is now or the way Steve has always had to be. There’s every chance that parenting Charlie would have been too much for teenaged him. 

But he’s strong enough now, Bucky thinks. He’s in the right place now, to try and be a parent. He fixes that in his mind and turns back to the game. 

At first, Charlie hangs back, staying out of the way of some of the faster, bigger girls. But as the game continues, she gets more and more involved. Steve cheers for all the girls, but especially loud for Charlie, whistling the way Bucky had shown him how to do when they were twelve years old. 

“It’s just for fun, really,” Steve explains. His eyes haven’t left Charlie once during the whole game, Bucky’s noticed. “They have practice once a week and games at least once a month during the winter. Practice continues year round, which is great. It’s hard, even in New York, to find activities and clubs that are accessible.”

Bucky nods, thinking about that. For a minute, he imagines if he didn’t have his prosthetic. He takes it off, at the end of the day, and sometimes leaves it off when he’s at home or if he’s having back pain, but he doesn’t have to  _ live  _ with his disability the same way other people do — the same way Charlie does. The prosthetic is so advanced that there isn’t much he can’t do, except water-based activities, but the next round of improvements on the StarkProsthetic is looking to fix even that. 

He can’t imagine the hurdles Charlie, and Steve, by extension, has had to overcome. Watching Charlie as she catches the ball and wheels skillfully down the court, he promises he’s going to figure out how to help give his daughter the best life he possibly can — disability or no disability. 

*

Charlie’s team loses, but no one seems to care that much. Steve and Bucky meet Charlie at the side of the court. She’s sweaty but beatific. 

“Hi!” she greets excitedly as she wheels up to them. “Did you see me?” 

“I sure did,” Bucky says, smiling. “You were pretty great.”

“I almost got a basket!” she adds, bouncing a little. She turns to Steve. “Did you see, Papa? The ball  _ almost  _ made it in.”

“That was pretty awesome,” Steve agrees. “I bet by next game you’ll make a basket for real.”

She grins at him. Steve swings a backpack off his shoulder, pulling a water bottle out of it. He hands that over to Charlie, who immediately starts sucking it back. 

“Bucky,” Steve says, turning to him. “Could you do us a favor and go grab Charlie’s chair? It’s over there in the corner,” he points, and Bucky spots a messy line of wheelchairs hiding behind the bleachers. 

“Of course,” Bucky agrees. 

“Mine’s the blue and green one,” Charlie adds, sliding the water bottle out of her mouth with a pop. 

Bucky smiles at her. “I remember.” 

She smiles, ducking her head, like all of a sudden she’s a little shy. Bucky jogs over to the corner. He has to get one of the other parents to show him where the breaks are, which makes him feel a little dim-witted, but he tries not to let it get to him. The chair is surprisingly lightweight, Bucky discovers as he pushes it back. His engineering brain starts to deconstruct it and Bucky puts that on his mental  _ to google  _ list — he wonders if StarkIndustries has any subcontracts with wheelchair companies, that would be a cool side project.  

Charlie’s up and out of the basketball chair when he gets back, leaning against Steve as she talks excitedly to Shanika. Bucky comes up a little cautiously. Meeting Charlie’s friend somehow seems like a really big step, all of a sudden. 

Charlie looks up as he comes closer and bites her lip nervously. She glances at Steve, who gives her a little nod. “Shanika, this is my dad.”

_ My dad.  _ The whole room seems to go silent. Bucky’s heart stills for a moment before pounding back to life.  _ My dad.  _

He can’t process the words in Charlie’s voice —  _ my dad, my dad, my dad.  _ He hadn’t expected her to say that, not any time soon. 

Steve clears his throat and Bucky realizes that he’s taking entirely too long to respond and Charlie’s looking all nervous. He beams at her before quickly turning to Shanika, saying, “Hi Shanika. It’s very nice to meet you. You can call me Bucky.”

“Hi Bucky,” Shanika says with a shy smile. 

“I hear you girls usually go to pizza after a game, is that right?”

Both girls perk up. “Yeah!” Charlie enthuses. “We get pepperoni! Do you like pepperoni?”

“I do.” While Bucky talks, Steve takes the wheelchair out his hands, turning it around and flipping on the breaks. 

“Pizza makes Papa sick,” Charlie says. “But maybe you can share with me and Shanika and Ms. Tammy?” she blushes her way through the question. 

Bucky smiles, nodding. “I’d love that.”  

Steve offers his arm to Charlie, who maneuvers herself into her chair. She’s a little jerky, legs stiff and awkward, and she puts a lot of her weight on Steve as she moves, but she’s confident as she swings herself from one chair to the other. Steve hangs the backpack on the back of her chair as she settles herself. 

“The girls are just going to get changed,” Steve explains as Charlie and Shanika wheel away, Tamicka going with them. 

Bucky fidgets, a question coming to mind that he’s not really sure he should ask. Steve watches him for a minute and rolls his eyes. 

“What is it?” Steve asks. Bucky’d forgotten how well Steve knows his tells. He smiles a little ruefully. 

“Is she pretty independent with that stuff or…” he trails off, rubbing the back of his neck. She’s his daughter, Bucky tells himself, it’s not inappropriate for him to ask. Plus it’s  _ Steve _ , who will absolutely tell Bucky if he’s out of line. 

“Depends,” Steve says. “The locker rooms here suck in terms of accessibility and we don’t bring her crutches, so she needs a little help in there. That’s why Tammy goes back with them. I mean, obviously I can’t.”

Bucky nods. That makes sense and he’s glad that Charlie has someone who can help her. It strikes him, suddenly, how much more complicated that will all get in just a couple years. Charlie doesn’t have  _ any  _ female caregivers, but she’s probably not going to want Steve’s help when she hits puberty. 

Fuck. Puberty. That’s just around the corner, Bucky thinks. Shit, he’s not ready for that. 

He studies Steve’s face, wondering if Steve’s thought about all of this, if he’s got plans for how to handle Charlie’s needs as she gets older. Probably, Bucky thinks. Steve’s always been a reckless asshole, but ask him to plan something complicated and he could come up with the most nuanced plans of attack. He’d beat Bucky ruthlessly in chess all through their childhood. 

Bucky shakes his head, refocusing. 

“We’ve got the bathroom at home set up a little better, but it’s not perfect, so she sometimes needs a little help there, too. Riley and Sam’s place is the best — it’s totally accessible. They did a big reno to make things work for Riley. So there she can pretty much be completely independent, which is great.”

Biting his lip nervously, not sure if it’s too much too soon, Bucky says, “I, uh, was talking to my folks and we realized that their place and mine is pretty inaccessible.”

“Most places in New York are,” Steve interjects with a sigh. 

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, though he’s never had to pay that much attention to it. He can imagine, just thinking about it. “Anyway, I’d love for her to be able to visit me and my parents, you know. And I was wondering if you could maybe help me figure out some changes we could make so that’s a little easier?”

Steve stares up at him, mouth dropping open a little and eyes going wide. “You’d do that? For Charlie?”

“Of course,” Bucky says adamantly. “I want her to be a part of my life. I’m going to do everything I can to make that possible.”

Steve nods, a little shaky. He’s still staring. “Then, of course. Of course I’ll help.”

Bucky smiles. 

*

Steve’s quiet as they walk over to the pizza place, and he keeps glancing at Bucky out of the corner of his eyes. Bucky notices, but he’s really too busy listening to Charlie to pay it too much attention. 

“ — and we’re all gonna get on a big bus and drive all the way to Queens to go to the Science Hall!” she enthuses, waving her arms about excitedly. Steve’s pushing her now, navigating the crowded New York streets with the ease of a pro. Tammy’s got Shanika, right beside. 

“That sounds pretty awesome! I love that museum. I haven’t been in ages.”

“Maybe you could be a chaperone,” Tammy pipes up. “They’re always looking for parent chaperones for that sort of thing.”

“Oh,” Bucky says, stilling. He glances over at Steve. He’d  _ love  _ to do that, but he’s not sure they’re quite there yet. 

Charlie perks up even further, twisting to look back at him. “Could you, Bucky?  _ Please? _ ”

Bucky really doesn’t want to have to say no to that. 

“We’ll talk about it,” Steve pipes up. 

“Papa,  _ please! _ ” she begs. Bucky barely restrains himself from adding on his own  _ Steve, please.  _ And it grates a little, that he has to get permission for this sort of thing from Steve, when Charlie’s his daughter too. He understands it, he doesn’t necessarily want to change the status quo quite yet, but it still grates. 

“Whoever goes with you would have to help you with getting in and out of the bus, your chair, and the bathroom and all that, if you needed it,” Steve says softly, sweeping her curls out of her face. “I wasn’t sure if you’d feel comfortable with Bucky doing all that, yet.”

“Oh,” she mumbles, slumping. She peeks up at Bucky from underneath her lashes. Bucky gives her a quick, reassuring smile, though internally he’s also slumping — he’s not sure he’d feel comfortable doing that yet, either. 

“We’ll see what things are looking like in January,” Steve offers and Charlie nods, turning back around. 

“Do you go on these sorts of trips?” Bucky asks Tammy. 

“Oh, Shanika and Charlie don’t go to school together,” she answers. “Shanika’s over at P.S.029.”

“Ah, okay,” Bucky answers, just as they arrive at the pizza place. Bucky grabs the door, holding it for their little gathering. The man at the front counter shouts a hello as he sees them come in. 

“How’d the game go?” he asks. 

“We lost,” Shanika sighs as she and Tamicka head over to the counter. 

“We’re regulars,” Steve explains with a grin, as they claim a large booth in one corner. It’s got a little paper sign on it, reading  _ reserved.  _

Charlie pops out of her wheelchair and slides into the booth, calling for Bucky, “Will you sit next to me?”

Bucky grins happily. “Of course I will!” 

He ends up between Charlie and Steve. It’s just crowded enough that he can feel their elbows pressing into his arms. There’s a little moment of stillness as Shanika and Tammy return from the counter with menus and get settled. 

Steve breaks the silence, “So Shanika, you know what Bucky does for work?”

“What?” she asks, looking up. 

“He’s an Engineer at Stark Industries,” Steve says, smiling broadly. Shanika’s eyes go wide. 

“For real?!” she shouts. 

“For real,” Steve confirms, laughing a little. Turning to Bucky he says, “Shanika wants to be an engineer when she grows up. She thinks it would be cool to work in Stark’s R&D.”

“It is pretty cool,” Bucky agrees, turning towards her. Charlie, sitting next to her friend, is all wide-eyed too. 

“What do you do?” Shanika asks at the same time as Charlie asks, “Do you make robots?”

Bucky laughs. He spends the rest of dinner answering their questions and explaining what it’s like to be an engineer. He’s aware, though out, of Steve reclining against the booth next to him, smiling warmly at him. Everyone’s scents are happy and relaxed — Charlie is starting to smell familiar and Steve smells a bit like him, just from sitting next to each other all night. The whole thing settles over him like a warm blanket, making this feel easy and good. 

He feels, for the first time, a bit like a family. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the little outtake from Steve's POV, set about three years prior to sweet child. It gives a little insight on how Steve is feeling.


	6. Chapter 6

The next couple weeks fly by and before Bucky knows it Christmas is only a week away. His family doesn’t celebrate, of course, but they’ve taken to doing something Hanukkah-esque between Christmas and New Year’s. It’s easier that way because everyone gets vacation and Becca comes back from school and they actually all get to be together. 

This year there are new considerations, however. A week before Christmas, Bucky pops down to the Graphic Design office during lunch. As he expected, Steve’s tucked in his office, working on some last minute project. Since finding out about Charlie, Bucky understands Steve’s hours and why he insists on working through lunch a lot better. 

Bucy calls Steve’s name from the doorway, giving him plenty of warning in case his hearing aid is off. But Steve just looks up and smiles, spinning around in his chair. Things have been a lot easier between them in the last couple weeks. The last two weekends, they’ve planned outings with Charlie, and whatever residual tension from Bucky’s aborted kiss seems to have faded. 

Bucky still thinks about it — how soft Steve’s lips were under his, the smell of the omega so close. But he’s been doing a good job keeping his focus on Charlie and what Charlie needs right now, so he doesn’t let himself linger on those thoughts too long. 

“Hey,” Steve greets. “What’s up?”

“Not much,” Bucky answers, smiling and stepping into the room. “Christmas is coming up and I was wondering what you and Charlie usually do and if we wanted to do anything together.”

“Oh!” Steve says, setting his stylus down and pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Well we usually spend the day of with Sam’s family, but Christmas Eve we usually do something quiet at home, just the two of us. You could come over then, maybe? If you wanted?”

Bucky perks up, “Yeah! That would be great.” His chest fills with warmth — it feels special, to be invited to a time and space that’s usually just Steve and Charlie’s. It feels like being invited into their family, which is everything that he wants. 

They’ve only met out and about, so Bucky hasn’t even seen their place yet. 

“Great,” Steve says with a small, almost shy, smile. 

Hesitating a moment, Bucky decides just to go for it. “I’d really love if you guys could come join my family for some of our celebrations. We’ve been doing sort of a fake Hanukkah between Christmas and New Year’s the last several years. If you guys wanted to come over for latkes and dreidel… Charlie could meet everybody. They’d all love to see you, too.”

Steve bites his lip, turning his gaze down thoughtfully. 

“I understand if that feels like too much, too soon…” Bucky says cautiously. 

“No — no I think that would be good. Charlie’s been asking about your family.”

“She has?” Bucky asks, excited. 

Steve nods. “Yeah, so. I think that would be good. And it would be nice to see everyone.”

“They’ve missed you,” Bucky says a little softer. Steve glances up, a sad sort of smile on his face. “We’ve all missed you.”

“I’ve missed you guys too,” Steve murmurs, meeting Bucky’s eyes. Fuck. Bucky loves him so much. This  _ man.  _ He just wrecks Bucky. 

“So, uh, I’ll talk to my folks and we can figure out a time? Any days that don’t work for you?”

“Uh, I think it’s all fine — I mean New Year’s I do with Sam and Riley, so not that night, but you probably weren’t planning on then.”

“Nah,” Bucky says playfully, though he doesn’t have any real plans for New Year’s — he never does. It’s not a great holiday for recovering alcoholics. “This is great, though. I’m really excited.”

“Yeah, me too,” Steve grins. 

They spend probably too long smiling sappily at each other before Steve’s computer dings and breaks them out of their reverie. They both blush and Steve quickly turns back to his computer. “Oh,” he mutters, “Um I have to go get this up to the creative director…”

“Better hop to it,” Bucky says playfully. “I’ll see you this weekend?” They have plans to take Charlie to the new Disney movie that’s just come out. 

“Yeah, see you then,” Steve agrees with a smile. 

*

With Christmas plans settled, Bucky has no more excuses. He has to tell Becca.  He’d specifically asked his parents, Nate, and Tilly not to tell her until he has a chance. He has to be the one to tell her — he knows that.

Still, he putters around the kitchen cleaning things that don’t really need cleaning for a good half hour, before finally getting his courage together and dialing her up. 

The phone rings a little too long and Bucky begins to worry that she’s not going to answer and he’s going to have to call back. But finally, she does answer. “Hey, asshat!”

“Monkey breath,” Bucky retorts. As soon as it comes out he realizes his voice is audibly nervous and tense. 

“Bucky?” she says, voice going still. “What’s up?”

“I have to tell you something,” he says. And then, because he’s done this a couple times now, quickly adds, “It’s nothing bad. But I need you to be patient and wait ‘til I’m done, okay?”

“Okay,” she agrees slowly. 

“So a few months ago I started working on the first StarkProsthetic public campaign. Pepper paired me with their new Design Fellow, okay? So I go down and it’s Steve. Steve Rogers.”

Bucky can hear her taking a slow, measured breath. Of everyone in his life, she’s the one who puts the most blame on Steve. She was the only one who knew that they had slept together before Steve left because Bucky had admitted it to her in a drunken fit about a year after Steve had gone off the grid.  _ How could he fucking do that,  _ he remembers raging,  _ sleep with me and then just fucking vanish. He was my first, you know. What a fucking waste of space.  _

Bucky cringes, remembering the words, remembering his fury. 

Becca doesn’t interrupt, so Bucky keeps going. “And we started reconnecting, you know. And things were going alright,” he skips over the whole kissing and Steve running and that whole shit show because there’s no reason to make this any harder than it already is. “And then I found out — Steve was pregnant. That’s why he stopped talking to me. And he had the baby and Becca, she’s the greatest fucking kid I’ve ever met.”

Taking a deep breath of his own, Bucky continues, “And I need you to be okay with Steve. I need you to put it behind us. It was a lot more complicated than either one of us could have understood and he’s done such an amazing job raising our pup. And I want you to be close to her, to be her aunt. Can you do that?”

“I can try,” Becca says after a long silence. “I’ll try, alright? Because I want to be close to her too. So yes, I’ll find a way to forgive Steve. Okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky breathes. “Thank you.”

“I haven’t done anything yet,” she mumbles. And then, “tell me about her?”

Bucky could talk about Charlie all fucking day. 

*

Nervously, Bucky presses the buzzer for #430 A. It’s one of those squat little brick buildings probably built in the 50s or 60s, sat on the ground with no stairs and a little square of concrete out front to serve as a garage. 

It’s fucking freezing out and Bucky ducks his head into his coat, adjusting the bag of probably too many presents that he’s carrying. There’s a sharp ache in his shoulder and he’s looking forward to getting out of the cold. After a moment, Bucky hears the sound of a lock being undone and then Steve’s hastening him in with a smile. 

“Hey,” Bucky says, stamping his feet on the welcome mat. It has snowed a few days ago and all that’s left is gross gray slush everywhere. After he’s gotten the worst of the muck off, he sets the bag down and turns to Steve. 

“Hey,” Steve repeats and leans in for a hug. They pull each other close and scent each other. They pull back after a minute and Bucky immediately wants to lean in for another hug. “We better not keep Charlie waiting,” Steve says. “Do you mind taking your boots off?”

“Course not,” Bucky says. Once he’s divested himself of his gear, Steve leads him down the narrow entranceway,  most of which is taken up by a flight of stairs, to a second door and lets him in. Bucky takes a deep breath of the enticing mix of apples, leather, and new spring that makes up Steve and Charlie’s combined pheromones. With a pang he wishes he got to come home to that scent every day.  _ Maybe one day,  _ Bucky tells himself, turning his attention outward again. 

Charlie’s waiting just inside, balancing on one crutch and fidgeting impatiently. She’s not wearing her braces, and her legs fall in awkward angles that Bucky’s not used to seeing. 

“Hi!” she says. She barrels forward and sort of falls into Bucky for a hug. Bucky tries not to freeze up — it’s the first time Charlie’s initiated any contact and Bucky has studiously followed Steve’s advice about touching her. He brings his arms around her slowly, afraid to spook her. He meets Steve’s gaze, his own eyes wide and wondering. Steve smiles, something fond and warm in his expression that Bucky doesn’t really have names for. After entirely too brief a period, Charlie pulls back, but she wraps her hand around his wrist and tugs. “C’mon, I wanna give you the tour!”

Bucky glances at Steve and all his stuff, which he’d basically dropped all over the entryway. 

“I’ll get this,” Steve says with a grin, “You go on with her.”

Bucky doesn’t need to be told twice. 

Charlie’s stiff and jerky as she walks around the room, but she seems confident in her ability to navigate, so Bucky tries not to feel like she’s going to fall at any moment — it’s a hard instinct to overcome. 

“This is the living room!” she says. “And that’s our Christmas tree. Papa let me put all the decorations up.”

It’s very colorfully decorated, Bucky sees, and a good portion of their ornaments seem to be handmade. It reminds him, achingly, of Steve’s trees growing up. With a tight chest, Bucky is flooded with memories of Christmases spent with Steve and Sarah, who always invited him just like he was family. “Very nice,” he manages to compliment through his sudden, unexpected wave of grief. 

Aside from the tree, the room is spartan — just a couch, a table with a TV sitting on it, and some shelves along one wall. The floors are cold under his socked feet — no rugs either, though there’s plenty of art on the walls. Bucky figures it out when he spots Charlie’s wheelchair, tucked in one corner. Not too much stuff to keep her from moving around, no rugs to trip on or get caught under her wheels. Bucky makes a mental note, so he can see if he can make those own changes at home. 

“That’s the kitchen,” she points but doesn’t take him in. 

“Something smells good in there,” he tells her. 

“Papa made pot roast!” she says excitedly. “And then we made cookies together. I got to decorate them!”

“I bet they look terrific,” he grins. She grins back, blinding. 

“Papa’s room and the bathroom are down there,” she says, tugging him into another little hallway. “And this is my room!” 

The door’s standing open and she tugs him right in. Bucky looks around, taking it all in. The walls are painted a soft purple. The bedspread, Bucky’s not surprised to see, is decorated with the planets. “That was a present from Uncle Sam and Uncle Riley for my birthday,” she says, spotting his gaze. 

“It’s very nice,” he praises. 

“It goes with my stars,” she heads over to the light switch and flicks it off. In the dim light, he can see her pointing at the ceiling — and yes, there’s a collection of glow in the dark stars, carefully arranged into constellations. 

“Very cool!” he says, as she flicks the lights back on. 

Her bedroom is arranged similarly to the living room — there’s no furniture but her bed and a dresser, but there are lots of shelves on the walls, most of them filled with books. He walks a little closer and picks one up, smiling broadly, “A Wrinkle in Time! I love that one!”

“Me too!” she squeals. Dropping her cane against the wall, she tumbles onto her bed and reaches for a couple books sitting on the windowsill, next to a lamp and a water bottle. “These are what I’m reading right now!”

“Can I sit?” he asks, gesturing to her bed. She nods quickly, sending her dark curls dancing around her face. Bucky can’t wait to see her next to Becca — they look so alike. Bucky perches on the side of her bed, across from the strewn books from her. “Ah! Harry Potter! Your papa told me you were reading these. These were my favorite growing up. Who’s your favorite character?”

Her eyes go wide. “Um! I dunno, they’re all so good. Who’s  _ your  _ favorite?”

“I like Sirius,” he tells her, smiling down at her fondly. A warmth fills his whole body — he’s here in Charlie and Steve’s home, smelling them all around him, talking about some of his favorite books with his daughter. He can’t imagine a more perfect moment. 

But then he smells Steve and he looks up to find Steve leaning in the doorway, smiling at the two of them like he’s never seen anything better in his life. 

“Papa likes Hermione best,” Charlie divulges. “He says he likes smart girls and that’s why I’m his favorite. But I’d be his favorite anyway,” she says, rolling her eyes dramatically. “Cause when I was little they didn’t know if I’d have intellectual disabilities too and he still loved me anyhow.”

Steve smiles a soft, affectionate thing. “I would love you no matter what,” Steve agrees. 

Bucky looks at them both, overflowing with emotion. He’s not sure if it’s joy, to see how much they love each other, or jealousy, because he hasn’t had a chance to build that. Or maybe it’s hope — maybe it’s seeing that somewhere down the line, Bucky will look at Charlie like that and Charlie will take his love and presence so much for granted that she doesn’t even doubt it for a second. 

“And this is what I’m reading by myself, only papa says I can’t stay up past nine reading, except on holidays.” She presses  _ The Wild Robot _ into his hands. 

He flips it over, scanning the back cover. “I don’t know this one. Is it good?”

“Uh-huh!” she says. Somewhat awkwardly she tries to move closer. On instinct, Bucky reaches out and takes a little of her weight and she manages to swing her legs under her. “Thanks, dad.”

Everyone in the room freezes. Bucky drops  _ The Wild Robot.  _ She looks up at him, wide-eyed. God, those familiar blue eyes, exactly as emotive as Steve’s, exactly the same shade of blue. She swings her head to look at Steve. 

It’s only been a few weeks, Bucky thinks, they hardly know each other. But this is what he’s wanted since he knew for certain that she was his. He expected it to take months. And yet here she is, already calling him  _ dad.  _ God, Bucky has no idea that a single word like that could wreck him so thoroughly. 

“Is that — I mean, can I..?” she mumbles, fixing her gaze on her knees and fidgeting with the book in her hands. 

“Of course it’s okay,” Bucky rushes to assure. This time he stops himself from touching her, waiting for her to initiate. “I’d love it if you wanted to call me dad. That would be the best Christmas present I ever got.”

“Really?” she asks, looking up, her expression a little disbelieving. 

“Without question,” he says, meeting her eyes. 

“Okay,” she whispers, eyes flicking down to her bedspread and then back to Steve. “Papa?” 

Steve quickly strides over to the bed, plopping down right next to her. She leans into him and with motions Bucky can’t quite make sense of, he rearranges her so she’s sitting properly. “I’m glad that you want to call him dad,” he assures. “Bucky is your dad, and you are absolutely allowed to call him that.”

Steve meets Bucky’s eyes over her dark head and something softens in the air between them. Steve starts putting out happy-content omega pheromones, mixing with Charlie’s sweet, neutral scent. He’s going to smell like them, Bucky realizes. When he gets home he’s going to smell like Charlie and Steve. 

Bucky picks up  _ The Wild Robot _ and holds it out to her. “So you think I should read this book, huh?”

She looks up. Her eyes are a little wet. She smiles, sniffling. “Yeah. You can borrow it when I’m done.”

“I’d like that,” he smiles. 

*

Dinner is held around Steve and Charlie’s dinky kitchen table, barely enough room for all their plates and the food. Charlie talks excitedly throughout, hardly giving either of them and word in edgewise. 

Bucky doesn’t mind. He loves hearing her talk — she talks about everything, from school ( _ Ms. Silva says she’ll give the person who reads the most books over vacation a prize! _ ), to her friends ( _ Alejandra and Emily are going to come over for a sleepover next week!),  _ to Sam and Riley  _ (Uncle Riley and I go swimming on Sundays, ‘cause it helps our legs get stronger! _ ). 

As Bucky listens, he’s aware of Steve’s gaze on him, warm and intense. When Bucky looks up, Steve doesn’t look away. Bucky heats under his eyes. Desire builds, but not in the traditional sense. It isn’t so much that he wants Steve (though he absolutely does), so much as that he wants this whole night. He wants this to be his life. 

He wants to come home to Charlie at the end of a long day of work, hear her chatter about school and her friends. He wants to eat dinner with his elbow bumping Steve’s. He wants to kiss Steve goodnight and good morning every single day for the rest of his life, while they both watch Charlie grow into a young woman. It hits him like a punch to the stomach, how much he wants that, and it leaves him reeling through the rest of dinner and well into  _ How a Grinch Stole Christmas.  _

Charlie has seated herself between them on the couch. At first, she leans into Steve, but as the movie progresses she slowly shifts her weight until she’s leaning her weight into Bucky. She’s light as a feather, but Bucky welcomes the warm press of her body against his, the trusting slump of her shoulders. Cautiously, he puts his arm around her, tucking her a little closer. His fingers brush over Steve’s bony shoulder as he does and Steve turns and smiles at them. 

By the end of the movie, Charlie is fast asleep. Steve stands, gently brushing curls away from her face. 

“D’you think you could carry her to her bedroom?” Steve asks. After months of preparing for the ad campaign, Steve knows better than most what Bucky’s prosthetic can do. 

“Definitely,” Bucky agrees. Together, they shift her away from Bucky so he can stand. He crouches by the couch and scoops her up into his arms. She’s not a baby. Bucky will never know what she felt like as a baby. But she still fits in his arms, her body is still a comfortable, welcome weight. He looks down at her, barely daring to take a breath. 

He  _ feels  _ like a dad. This makes him really feel like she’s his daughter. His eyes burn, he’s so happy. 

Steve leads him into her bedroom and drags her covers down. Bucky places her gently on her blue sheets and steps back, watching as Steve steps forward. Charlie rouses slightly, blinking sleepily as Steve expertly undoes her barrettes and pulls her socks off. He pauses and glances back at Bucky. 

“D’you mind stepping out for a bit? I’m just gonna change her into her PJs real quick.”

“Papa, I can do it,” she slurs, obviously still half asleep. Steve rolls his eyes a little. 

Bucky grins and nods and backs out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him. He goes into the living room and starts picking up water glasses and their popcorn bowl and taking it into the kitchen. He sets to washing them, along with the dishes from dinner. He replays the quiet, perfect evening in his head, smiling dopily at nothing. 

“You don’t have to do that,” Steve says from the doorway. Bucky turns to look at him — he looks tired too, all soft around the edges. He’s simply dressed, in a pair of sweats and a long sleeved shirt, that had made Bucky feel overdressed in his jeans and button down when he arrived. 

He’s never been more beautiful to Bucky than he is in that moment. 

“Thank you for tonight,” Bucky says, meeting Steve’s vivid blue eyes. “I can’t tell you what it means to me.”

Steve hesitates, nibbling at his bottom lip, but finally, he says, “This is always what I wanted, you know. It wasn’t ever that I didn’t want you in her life. I wanted that more than anything.”

Bucky nods because he thinks he’s starting to see that. Certainly, Steve hasn’t stood in the way of Charlie and Bucky building a relationship at any stage. Bucky sets down the dish he’s cleaning and turns off the water. He dries his hand on a dish towel. All the while, he watches Steve. 

Walking over to Steve, he stops within arm’s reach. “Steve,” he says softly, meaningfully. 

Steve shakes his head. His eyes gleam in the dim light. “I can’t Bucky,” he murmurs, not meeting Bucky’s gaze. “It’s not that I don’t want to. I can’t risk it. You understand, don’t you?”

Bucky doesn’t, not really, because he doesn’t have any doubts about them. But he knows that Steve does. Steve has never taken anything for granted, has never been 100% sure of something in his entire life. Bucky thinks that the only thing Steve is 100% sure of is Charlie. 

Bucky’s known Steve for longer than he can really remember. He knows that Steve is protecting himself as best he knows how. 

He steps a little closer. He cups Steve’s cheek. “I understand,” he murmurs, stroking his thumb over Steve’s cheek. There’s the rough press of stubble, barely visible due to Steve’s coloring, against his hand. “I do, Steve. But I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here when you’re ready.” He darts down and presses a kiss to Steve’s cheek. 

Steve presses his lips together and doesn’t say anything. 

Bucky gathers his things and goes. 

*

The hurt blooms as Bucky makes his way home. But it’s a gentle sort of hurt, a manageable hurt. 

Over the past few weeks, his anger at Steve has started to fade. It still dwells in him and comes out at times, mostly when he discovers another thing that he’s missed in Charlie’s life. But Bucky also thinks he’s starting to understand where Steve came from — how hard it must have been to make the decision that he did. 

There’s so much history between Steve and him, a complex web of emotion and memory, and so much of it has gone unspoken for so long — two teenage boys, too stupid and scared to say a word to each other. And then, nothing. Nothing for eight long years. 

And somehow here they are again, too scared to say anything. It’s not sustainable — if Bucky’s learned one thing in the last eight years, it’s the importance of honest communication. Bucky needs to tell Steve what happened after Steve left, and he needs to hear about what Steve has lived through too. That’s the only way forward. That’s the only way to move past his anger and hurt and make Steve understand just how important he is to Bucky, and just how hard Bucky has worked to be a reliable person. 

*

Bucky doesn’t say anything to Steve right away, about what he’s decided. The holiday season isn’t the time for big, emotional conversations. 

Plus, he’s preparing for Charlie meeting his — and her — family for the very first time. Most of Christmas day they spend rearranging the living and dining rooms, making things more accessible for Charlie.

After moving furniture and installing some suction-based grab bars in the downstairs bathroom, they all troop out for Chinese and an evening showing of whatever’s playing that they can all agree on. Bucky’s too busy anticipating the next day to really pay attention to any of it. 

He lays awake for hours in his cramped twin bed in his childhood bedroom, before giving up and heading down to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea. He’s surprised to discover the light is on. Pausing outside the door, Bucky can make out Becca and their ma’s voices. 

“You don’t blame Steve?” Becca’s asking. 

“I did,” Bucky’s ma says, voice soft with middle of the night sleepiness. “But everything changes when you have a baby. I don’t necessarily think Steve made the  _ right  _ choices or the  _ best  _ choices, but the poor boy had a lot going on, without Jamie to deal with.”

That hurts to hear. Bucky takes a quiet step back, not sure he wants to listen to anymore. 

“That’s not fair,” Becca argues. “Bucky was a good kid before — “ she cuts herself off and Bucky winces. 

“No,  _ that _ ’s not fair,” Bucky’s ma snaps, voice stern. “That’s a cop-out, and you know it. Jamie made his own choices, it’s not right to put that on Steve. Jamie’s a good boy, but things were always easy for him. He didn’t have to struggle — he didn’t understand a lot of what Steve had to deal with.”

Bucky hangs his head. It’s fucking true and he knows it, but it hurts to hear it in his ma’s voice. 

“I’m not saying he was selfish, because he wasn’t. He was always a kind boy. He just didn’t have to think about anyone but himself for a long time. No, listen,” his ma hushes as Becca goes to talk. “You three would have been the same if it weren’t for what happened with Jamie. Me and your dad, we gave you a safe life. We didn’t do the best job preparing you for how hard things can get. It’s no wonder Jamie didn’t know how to handle it when Steve stopped talking to him.”

The teapot starts to whistle and the talking stops as mugs clunk against the counter and a spoon clinks against the ceramic. Bucky can picture them — mirror images of each other, dark curls and hazel eyes, a spray of freckles across their slightly-too-big-for-traditional-beauty noses —  sitting across the table from each other, his ma’s slightly wrinkled hand sitting on top of Becca’s. 

“It was always easier for Jamie to be angry. You two are the same that way. You get it from me, I’m afraid.”

Becca sighs out a long breath, even as Bucky holds his. A dull throb has taken up residence in his chest, like a bruise you can’t see or touch.  

“I’m not saying don’t be angry. I’m not saying it’s anybody’s fault. I’m just saying it’s complicated. They both did things they shouldn’t have. It is what it is. Life’s brought them back together again, and we’ll see where it takes them.”

“And if it takes him back there? If he falls?” Bucky’s chest burns. He’s still holding his breath, he realizes. It’s a punch to the gut, to realize that Becca still worries about that, still thinks he’s going to fall off the wagon, turn into that person again. 

Could he? Bucky asks himself. If everything with Steve and Charlie fell apart if he lost them again, would he go back to that place? 

It’s a terrifying thought. 

“Then we’ll pick him back up again,” Bucky’s ma says. “And we’ll walk with him ‘til he can walk on his own, same as we would do for any of you.”

Bucky turns and goes back up the stairs. He crawls into bed. He turns and stares at the ceiling — there are still two lone glow-in-the-dark stars from his own childhood, though they’ve long since stopped glowing. 

Bucky doesn’t think Steve and Charlie are going anywhere. He thinks they’re here to stay. And even if they’re not, even if there’s a chance Bucky could lose it all again, can he really afford not to try? He would hate himself for the rest of his life if he didn’t make an effort to be a part of their lives.

It cements his decision to be honest with Steve. They both have to lay their cards on the table, be clear to each other about what exactly is at stake here. Bucky needs to let go of the rest of his anger. It doesn’t matter if it’s justified — it’s only going to stand in the way of building positive relationships with Steve and Charlie. And he needs to understand what’s holding Steve back — what is Steve afraid of?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to leave comments! I'm behind on responding as I'm in my last week of undergrad (!!!!) and all the things are due. We are also catching up to what I have written as I have not had time to write in the last couple weeks, so updates may slow down after next week. Sorry about that!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summer brain is real. What day is it again?

The overheard conversation is still swirling around Bucky’s brain as he goes to answer the door, making him even more anxious about Charlie meeting his family. He wants them to see what he sees — how amazing Charlie is, how good it will be to have her and Steve in his life. 

Steve texts when they arrived, letting Bucky know  _ We’re going to need some help with the stairs.  _ Bucky manages to convince his family to stay in the living room, hoping to make this less overwhelming for Charlie. At the door, Bucky shoves his feet into some boots, shrugs into his jacket, and steps into the icy winter evening. Steve and Charlie are standing on the sidewalk, bundled up in winter coats and mittens, Charlie’s backpack tossed over Steve’s shoulder. To Bucky’s surprise, Charlie’s balanced on her crutches. 

Bucky jogs down the stairs and they both turn to look, breaking into identical grins. Charlie wobbles forward, falling into his stomach. Bucky brings his arms around her and crouches, to hug her properly. 

“Hi dad,” she murmurs into his shoulder. Bucky’s eyes burn a little. For the first time, he dares to scent her properly, snuffling at her hair. She scents back, her warm breath huffing over his neck. He clutches a little tighter. 

“Hi Charlie,” he responds as she pulls back. His hand shaking, Bucky strokes some curls away from her cheek.  She smiles up at him. Her cheeks are pink from the cold and her eyes are bright behind her glasses. 

“Thanks for your presents,” she says shyly. Bucky grins, pleased. He’d gotten her a couple home science kits and a gift card for a nearby bookstore and he’d been optimistic about their reception. “Papa and I played with the Snap Circuits all day.” 

“She really loves them,” Steve agrees. His breathing is a little rough, reminding Bucky that they’re standing out in the cold. 

“I’m really glad,” Bucky says. “Now, let’s get you two inside. It’s freezing out here!” He turns to consider the steep flight of stairs to his front door. He had thought that Charlie would be in her wheelchair, and he was thinking that he and Steve could lift her up them the way Bucky had seen Steve do with Sam a couple times. Looking at the stairs now, though, Bucky realizes that was probably an unrealistic plan for the number of steps. 

Either way, it’s not an option as Charlie isn’t in her chair. 

“What’s the best way to do this?” Bucky asks, turning to the pros. 

Abruptly, he freezes. For the first time since he’s met her, Charlie’s looking embarrassed, staring at the ground moodily. Bucky’s eyes fly to Steve’s, who gives him a tight smile. Steve puts a hand on Charlie’s shoulder and squeezes it. 

“Charlie’s feeling a little anxious about meeting everyone,” Steve divulges softly. “She didn’t feel comfortable using her chair tonight.” Bucky frowns, upset to hear that. The last thing he wants is for Charlie to feel like she can’t be herself around their family. 

“Papa!” Charlie protests, a waver in her voice. 

Bucky crouches down, ignoring the way slush seeps into the hems of his jeans. 

“They’re going to love you,” he says, taking her hands. “They’re so excited to meet you.”

Charlie just shrugs, an awkward motion with her arms still clutching her crutches. Bucky’s lips twist and he meets Steve’s gaze again. They share a worried look. 

“How about dad gives you a piggyback up the stairs?” Steve suggests, coming back to the initial issue.  Bucky’s heart skips a beat, hearing Steve call him dad, hearing Steve acknowledge him so clearly as Charlie’s dad. Charlie looks up at that suggestion, a little anxiety leaving her face. Bucky smiles at her. 

“I can do that,” he agrees. 

She gives a tiny smile and nods, so Steve takes her crutches and Bucky turns around, crouching. Steve helps her climb on — her legs don’t bend quite the way Bucky would expect and she’s wearing a dress, but they make it work. Bucky easily carries her up to the landing, where they get her settled back on the ground. 

Bucky lets them in, taking their coats. 

“You look very pretty tonight!” Bucky says as Charlie slips off her puffy jacket. She’s wearing a long-sleeved navy dress and black tights, her braces over top and tucked into a pair of battered blue converse sneakers. 

“Thanks,” she says, though she shuffles a little nervously. “Can I leave my shoes on? Cause otherwise I can’t wear my braces and…” she trails off, twisting her lips. 

“Course you can,” Bucky says easily, hanging up her jacket. 

“You wanna show dad the cookies you made?” Bucky wonders if his heart will ever stop leaping when someone calls him Charlie’s dad. Probably not. 

“Yeah!” she says, perking up a little. Steve sets her backpack on the bench that has sat by the front door for as long as he can remember. Charlie sits, leaning her crutches against the bench and opens the bag. Steve steps closer as she rustles through its contents. 

“She’s been really nervous about this,” Steve shares in an undertone. Bucky frowns, concerned. “She doesn’t usually get self-conscious about the CP,” Steve elaborates. He’s frowning now too. “But she was really adamant about not using her chair tonight.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

Steve’s lips twist to the side as he thinks. “I don’t think so. Just treat her like you always do. I think she just really wants them to like her, y’know? She hasn’t had any family, not like this. It’s new for her.”

Bucky nods, opening his mouth to say more when Charlie calls, “Look dad!” 

She’s holding a tupperware container of cookies and Bucky obligingly comes over to take a look. They’re decorated in a bright splash of colors with abstract designs. He’d expect nothing less from Charlie. 

“They’re lovely. I bet they’re just as delicious as the ones from the other night.”

She beams up at him. 

“Let’s go put them on a plate in the kitchen, okay?” Bucky suggests, deciding that giving her a little more time to settle in before going to meet everyone can only help. When he looks up, Steve nods, looking pleased with the idea. 

The three of them proceed to the kitchen. Steve’s head swings back and forth as they walk, taking it all in. As they step into the kitchen, he smiles. “It’s just like I remember.”

Bucky grins and clasps his shoulder, lingering for perhaps a moment too long. Now that they’re in the kitchen it’s easy to hear the voices of his family in the living room — just on the other side of the dining room from them. Charlie scooches a little closer to Steve and leans into his side, looking shy. 

“I promise they’re really nice,” Bucky says as he reaches up to grab a plate. His sweater sleeve falls down, revealing his metal arm. For the first time, he catches Charlie staring at it. Typically kids stare at it a lot more, but given her familiarity with Riley and her own disabilities, Bucky hasn’t been surprised that she hasn’t. “They’re all real excited to meet you.”

She nods a little, biting her lip. Steve strokes her hair soothingly. 

“Dad?” she asks softly. “Did they mind? When you lost your arm?”

Bucky sets the plate down and purposefully rolls up his sleeves so she can see it. “Not in the way you mean. They were scared because I was hurt really bad, and they were worried because they knew it would make my life harder, but they never made me feel bad about it.”

Charlie nods again but tucks her face into Steve’s stomach instead of saying anything. Bucky looks up at Steve, seeking reassurance that he hasn’t said the wrong thing. Steve smiles, though his face is a little somber. 

“They’re nice people, honey,” Steve assures. “I understand why you’re nervous, but I promise it’s going to turn out okay. Let’s go meet them, okay? I think you’ll feel better once you have.”

She sighs and pulls back from Steve. She firms up her shoulders in a way that is achingly familiar to Bucky — how many times had he seen Steve do that in their childhood? Before a hard test, or when a bully tried to take his lunch money, or when he told Bucky about his mom’s cancer. 

Steve gives her a quick squeeze and gestures for Bucky to lead them in. There’s an anxious set to his shoulders too, and Bucky reminds himself that it’s been eight years since Steve had to leave them — not just Bucky, but all them, these people who were practically his family. Bucky shoots a reassuring smile at Steve and heads into the living room. 

Everyone goes quiet, which isn’t exactly helpful for setting Charlie and Steve at ease. 

“Um,” Bucky starts. “Everyone, this is Charlie.” He steps to the side so they can see her better, but she shrinks into Steve. Bucky’s ma looks up, catching his eyes — her’s are already brimming with tears and Bucky chokes back his own happy cries. “Charlie, this is my ma, Winifred.” 

His ma gets up, coming over. Abruptly, Bucky realizes that he forgot to tell his family that Charlie didn’t like to be touched by new people. All his preparations and he hadn’t managed to remember that? Fuck. 

His ma starts to reach out, but Steve steps in front of Charlie, just a little, interrupting the hug. “Hi Freddie,” he says. Ducking his head a little, he adds, “Thanks for having us.”

Bucky’s ma loses her fight with tears then. “Oh, Steve. Honey, we’re so glad you’re back. We’ve worried about you, all these years.” She  _ does  _ tug Steve into a hug, which Steve allows. Bucky can even see them scenting each other. An ache starts in his chest. This is all he wanted, for so many years, just to have Steve  _ home  _ again. And now Steve’s here and there’s Charlie and Bucky just can’t fucking process it. 

Charlie shifts a little behind them, biting her lip nervously and shuffling her feet uncomfortably. It occurs to Bucky that he’s never actually seen Charlie stand for this long. What he doesn’t want to do is draw attention to her, ‘cause he knows how self-conscious she’s feeling. He catches her eye and waves her over. She walks over to him, stiff and jerky in the way he’s starting to get used to. Bucky steps closer to the couch and sits — right up in his dad’s space, who gets the idea and moves over. Bucky pats the seat next to him with a smile. 

Charlie sighs a little as she sits. She’s short enough that when she scooches back, her feet dangle off the floor. After she arranges her crutches, leaning against the arm of the couch, she leans into his space. Bucky puts his arm around her cautiously, always ready to pull back if she gives any sign that she’s uncomfortable. 

Finally, Steve pulls away from Bucky’s ma, eyes suspiciously wet. He quickly locates Charlie and comes over, perching on the arm of the chair. 

“Let me finish introductions and then maybe we can play some dreidel,” Bucky suggests, giving Charlie a quick squeeze. If they can break up the whole group and give her a little space, Bucky thinks that’ll help everyone. “Charlie brought us some cookies too, so maybe we can pre-game our latkes.”

Charlie ducks her face into Bucky’s side as people call out to thank her for the cookies. 

“This is my dad, George,” Bucky says and she peeks out. Bucky’s dad smiles at her, crossing his eyes. She giggles and Bucky’s dad beams. “And these are my siblings. This is Becca,” Becca waves hello and Charlie waves shyly back. “Nate,” leans forward to give Charlie a fist bump, which she allows with a smile that shows off her dimple, “and Tilly.”

“I hear you’re a basketball player,” Tilly says, grinning. “I hope we can play together sometime.”

“Oh!” Charlie says softly. “Um, I’m not very good.”

“That’s alright,” Tilly responds, voice easy, “I wasn’t very good when I started either. Maybe I can help you practice sometime.”

“I’d like that,” Charlie agrees, a little shy smile on her face. 

“Nate plays too, don’t you?” Steve jumps in, turning his gaze to Nate. 

“Yeah,” Nate nods. “But I mostly swim these days. I hear you like to swim too?” 

“Uh-huh,” she perks up a little bit. “With my Uncle Riley.” She stops all of a sudden, lips clamping together. “Um, he’s not  _ really  _ my uncle, not like…” she trails off and an uncomfortable tension falls over the room. 

“You mean I have competition for the best uncle ever?” Nate asks, making his eyes wide and his voice aghast. Charlie looks like she doesn’t know how to respond. 

“Sam and Riley are pretty awesome,” Steve agrees, laying a hand on her back. “We’ll have to come up with a list of criteria for ‘best uncle.’” 

Charlie’s smiling, but she’s also shrinking a little further into the couch, eyes flicking between all the parties in the room. Bucky’s dad clears his throat, “Becca could you help me set the table?”

Bucky’s ma catches on, “I guess I better get those latkes started!” She gets up and bustles off, Becca and Bucky’s dad not far behind. That leaves only Nate and Tilly and Charlie’s shoulders relax a little. 

Now that the pressure if off a little, Bucky looks up at Steve. His eyes are tight and stressed and Bucky frowns, not sure how he can turn the night around and make it enjoyable for everyone. Charlie drums her legs against the base of the couch anxiously. 

“I like your braces,” Tilly says, voice gentle. Charlie freezes. 

Bucky quickly pipes up, “They’re really cool, aren’t they? Charlie knows a lot about space.”

“Yeah?” Nate asks, perking up. As a kid, he’d always wanted to be an Astronaut. “Have you been to the planetarium?”

Charlie sits up straight, eyes bright. Bucky grins and relaxes against the couch, ready to hear Charlie tell Nate  _ all  _ about her last trip to the planetarium. 

*

After that, everyone settles in. Charlie won’t let Steve out of her eyesight, but by the time they’re sitting down for dinner, she seems much more relaxed. Bucky puts her in between Steve and across from his dad. 

“Have you ever had latkes before, Charlie?” Bucky’s ma asks as she starts serving people. As always, she puts a very pointed amount on Steve’s plate with a stern look. Steve smiles down at his plate, throat working. 

“Uh-huh,” Charlie says, holding her plate up for Bucky’s ma. “Papa always wanted me to try Jewish things, cause he didn’t want me to miss part of my — my heritage,” she says. 

“Oh,” Bucky’s ma says, voice a little shaky. She looks over at Steve, who blushes a little. “That’s wonderful, I’m so glad to hear that.”

“Only he says there’s not any matzah ball soup as good as your’s anywhere,” Charlie adds, pulling her plate back towards her. Steve blushes even deeper and Bucky’s ma looks like she might cry again. Bucky knows the feeling. Every time he realizes how hard Steve’s worked to give Charlie what Bucky might have he feels at once supremely grateful for how thoughtful Steve is and furious for all the years and things he missed. 

“Well then,” Bucky’s dad says, voice a little rough. “We’ll have to have you two over for Pesach.”

“We’d like that,” Steve says softly, scooping applesauce onto his plate. 

“Oh, that reminds me, Steve! I was up in the attic getting the hanukkiah and dreidels down and I found a couple boxes of your mom’s things that we held on for you. I was thinking you might like to have them back.”

“Oh,” Steve says softly, a complicated mix of grief and joy in his voice. 

“Grandma’s things?” Charlie asks, sitting up straighter, her eyes going wide.

Sarah would have doted on Charlie, Bucky thinks with a sudden surge of his own grief. She would have been such a wonderful, thoughtful grandmother. But Charlie will never have the chance to know, won’t ever get to eat her blueberry waffles or smell her fresh bread and honey scent, won’t ever know the sure, quick touch of her hand caring for childhood scrapes and bruises. 

“Yes,” Bucky’s ma affirms, a hidden sob thickening the words. 

“I wanna see!” Charlie enthuses. “Papa only has a couple pictures and her ring and stuff. Oh! Do you have pictures of Papa when he’s little?” she sounds so excited, Bucky feels his own grief fading in the face of it. 

“We have lots,” Bucky’s dad says. He’s always been the family photographer, dedicated to capturing all of the important and many of the not all that important moments in Bucky and his siblings’ childhoods. For years and years, those moments had always included Steve. “We can pull them out after dinner so you can see.”

“Thank you!” Charlie beams at Bucky’s dad. Bucky glances to the side, at Steve. There’s something unreadable in his eyes, something painful and thoughtful all in one go. Bucky doesn’t know what to make of it. 

“We’d love to see photos of you when you were little,” Bucky’s ma says, sounding a little bit cautious. Bucky keeps his eyes trained on Steve and sees him wince, just a little. 

“Papa has lots,” Charlie agrees, starting to cut into her latke. “We can bring them next time, maybe.”

“I’d love to see those too,” Bucky murmurs. She grins at him. Spotting Steve’s frown, Bucky decides it’s time for a change of subject. “Do you want any sour cream or applesauce?” he asks Charlie.

“Both!”

Bucky laughs and spoons some of each onto her plate, saying, “Girl after my own heart.” 

She doesn’t stop smiling all the way through dinner. 

*

After they’ve all stuffed themselves, Bucky, his parents, Charlie and Steve head into Bucky’s dad’s office, where they keep their photo albums. There aren’t many seats, so while Bucky’s dad gathers up some of the albums, Bucky picks a spot on the rug and settles himself down. 

Looking up, he catches a worried frown on Charlie’s face. But Steve pulls Bucky’s dad’s desk chair over and says softly to her, “Here, you can sit here, okay kiddo?”

She bites her lip and glances at Bucky. “I wanna sit with dad,” she says. Bucky’s ma jerks slightly, a soft sound slipping through her lips, but she doesn’t comment. 

“Okay,” Steve agrees. Curious, Bucky watches as Steve takes Charlie’s crutches, leaving her balancing on her own, and helps her lever herself down to the floor beside Bucky. She tilts towards him and Bucky puts an arm around her, moving slowly so she can stop him if she wants. But she just leans into him, letting him take some of her weight while Steve moves the chair back and sits down beside her. 

A moment later, Bucky’s parents join them. Bucky’s dad hands him the first album in their stack. 

“That’s from the year Steve and Bucky met,” Bucky’s dad explains. “They were even younger than you are now!”

“When Papa was five,” she says confidently, leaning even further into Bucky as he opens the album, craning her neck so she can see better. “Papa told me. They were at school and Dad was hiding in the trees and Papa found him.”

Bucky looks up, wide-eyed, at Steve, somehow amazed that Steve’s told Charlie this story. When Steve had said that he’d told Charlie about him, Bucky had sort of figured it was just the basics. Apparently not.  _ She did know him,  _ Bucky realizes. And maybe that’s why it’s all coming together now, why after only a few weeks of knowing each other, she’s ready to call him dad. 

“That’s right,” Steve affirms, stroking her curly hair. 

Bucky flips to the middle of the album, to a familiar page. How many times had he looked at this picture in the eight years Steve had been gone? 

He tilts it towards Charlie and Steve. “That’s my seventh birthday party,” he explains. Tiny little Steve and baby Bucky have their arms around each other, grinning gap-toothed smiles and wearing pointed party hats. 

“Wow! Papa, you were so little!”

“Still pretty little,” Steve gripes playfully, catching Bucky’s eye. Bucky, of course, has always thought that Steve is precisely the right size. He had always fit perfectly against Bucky’s body, whether it was an arm slung around his shoulders or an intimate embrace. 

“Who are these boys?” Charlie asks, distracting Bucky

They spend the next hour pouring over photos. Charlie has a hundred questions about Bucky and his siblings and Steve growing up. She devours the stories that Bucky’s parents tell. 

When they come to a picture of Sarah in those last, terrible months, Charlie stops and strokes a finger over Sarah’s pale, gaunt face. Steve’s breath stutters, staring down at the picture of his ma. She’s grinning bravely, bare head tucked into a bandanna. Steve is sitting next to her hospital bed, face grim and too bony. It had been impossible to get Steve to eat or sleep in those last months. Sometimes Bucky had been afraid that the battle that was killing Sarah was going to kill his friend too. 

Reaching out, Bucky takes Steve’s hand and gives it a little squeeze. 

“Your grandma was a really wonderful lady,” Bucky’s ma says into the stillness. Charlie looks up, meeting her gaze. “She loved your papa so much.”

Charlie bites her bottom lip the same was Steve does when he’s nervous or overwhelmed and looks down at the picture. Bucky’s still holding Steve’s hand, he realizes, and he quickly lets go. Steve glances away, eyebrows drawn down. 

Just then there’s a knock on the doorframe and Becca peeks her head in. “Nate’s going to lose it if we don’t get to open presents soon,” she says with a smile, before catching on the mood in the room. 

But Bucky’s ma determinedly puts a smile on and nods. “Alright, we’ll just a be a minute. Why don’t you get the candles set up?” 

Becca nods and slips out. Charlie reverently closes the photo album and hands it over to Bucky’s dad, looking reluctant. 

“We’ll get you some pictures for you to keep, Charlie,” Bucky’s dad says. “You can have an album of your own to take home.”

“Really?” she says, sitting up excitedly. She starts to overbalance, but she catches herself. 

Bucky’s dad grins. “Of course. I’ll get it together as soon as I can.”

“Thank you! Thank you!” she leans forward, reaching one arm out. Bucky’s dad leans in, accepting her hug. When he pulls back he has to wipe some tears away while Bucky’s ma sniffles into a tissue. 

Bucky helps Charlie lever herself off the floor, following her directions exactly. Once she’s situated on her crutches, they all troop back out to the living room. Steve catches Bucky by the sleeve, holding him back for a moment. 

“I didn’t bring any gifts,” he says worriedly. “I didn’t realize…” he trails off, biting his lip. 

Bucky smiles fondly at him. “It’s okay. We’re only doing little gifts and things for you and Charlie tonight.”

Steve just looks more worried. “But I didn’t get anyone anything! I can’t accept that!”

Bucky puts a gentle hand on his shoulder. “We’re just glad you guys are here. We don’t need anything else.”

It doesn’t ease the worry on Steve’s face, but something softens in his body, so Bucky will take what he can get. 

“Papa?” Charlie calls from the other room, sounding a little nervous. Steve picks up his pace, quickly making his way back into the living room. 

The three of them settle on the couch, Charlie once again tucked between them and Bucky feels like they’re a proper family — the three of them their own little unit. She leans into Steve and Steve combs her hair with his fingers, marking her. Bucky wants to be able to do that — purposefully leave his scent on her so everyone can smell that they belong together — but he knows he needs to take her lead on this, the way he has done for touching. 

Bucky’s siblings have started carrying in the gifts, piling them on the coffee table. Bucky’s aware of Steve’s body getting tense and Charlie’s eyes going wide. He thinks back, remembering the small assortment of gifts under Steve and Charlie’s tree. His family has gone  _ way  _ overboard, he realizes, with a fond roll of his eyes. Still, there are eight years worth of gifts to make up for, so he’s not surprised at his family’s excess. 

“Bucky,” Steve hisses over Charlie’s head. She’s biting her lip and staring at the quickly filling table. “You said small gifts!”

“You know how my family is,” Bucky murmurs back. Because Steve  _ does.  _ Bucky’s family had showered Steve with gifts growing up as often as they could get away with. 

Steve’s eyebrows fold disapprovingly, eyes turning stormy and he opens his mouth to argue before glancing down at Charlie and closing his lips abruptly. 

Bucky’s ma, having missed their exchange, pipes up, “Do you want to light the candles, Charlie?” 

Charlie perks up and nods. Steve helps her to her feet and goes over with her to the windowsill where the hanukiah is set up. He stands behind her, bracing her body as Bucky’s dad light the shamash and hands it over. 

The whole world goes still as Bucky watches her light the candles, one by one, candlelight flickering over her face and reflected in the window. Bucky’s family sings the prayers while Charlie leans back into Steve and smiles. 

Slowly, everyone comes back to their place on the couches and Charlie settles between Steve and Bucky again. 

“Why don’t you start with one, Charlie?” She picks up a large box and hands it over to Charlie. 

Most of the gifts are for Charlie, which doesn’t surprise Bucky in the least. They range from books and craft supplies to science kits and puzzles. There’s a steadily growing pile of gifts by Charlie’s feet. She seems to like most of what she’s getting as far as Bucky can tell — for a couple of the more engineering type science kits she even asks if Bucky will do them with her, which makes Bucky beam. 

So he’s surprised when, as she’s handed another gift to open, Charlie abruptly bursts into tears. Everybody starts clamoring, a sort of panicked frenzy, and Bucky, who’s never seen Charlie cry, feels completely at a loss of what to do or say and just kind of freezes. 

“Okay,” Steve says, interceding. “Alright, let’s go take a break, Charlie. Up we get,” he hauls her to her feet and hurries out of the room, forgetting her crutches in the rush. Bucky grabs those and follows, though he’s not really sure if he should. They’ve stopped in the kitchen and Steve’s sitting down on a chair, scooping Charlie into his lap. He tucks her head into his neck and kind of rocks back and forth. Bucky hesitates in the doorway, feeling like he’s intruding on a private moment that he doesn’t have any place in. Steve and Charlie don’t even seem to realize he’s there. 

“That was a lot, huh?” Steve’s saying, stroking Charlie’s hair. She nods and sniffles into his t-shirt. 

“I don’t need all those things!” she says, voice approaching a sob. 

“I know you don’t, honey.” Steve rubs her back but doesn’t say anything further. Bucky’s still not clear on why she’s so upset and it’s also just really,  _ really  _ hard to see her so worked up. He doesn’t know how to soothe her or even talk to a distressed pup. It’s not something he has any experience with. 

“They don’t need to buy me lots of things to make me like them!”

Oh, Bucky thinks.  _ Oh.  _ Is that what she thinks they’re trying to do? No wonder she’s so upset, Bucky thinks. He’d be upset if he felt like his family was trying to buy his affection. But it’s not what his family’s trying to do, and he knows that. This is just one way they  _ show  _ their affection. They’re not trying to buy anything. He wants to reassure Charlie, but he’s still not sure it’s his place and he doesn’t want to intrude. 

“Oh, sweetheart. I don’t think that’s what they’re trying to do. I understand why it feels that way, but I really don’t think they’re trying to make you like them.” Steve reassures. His voice is steady and understanding, so clearly at ease at this part of parenting as he has been with all the other parts. God, Bucky doesn’t know the first thing about being a parent. 

“Then why’d they spend all that money on me?” Charlie asks plaintively and understanding begins to dawn. 

“Bucky’s family has a lot more money than we do,” Steve explains softly. “They always give lots and lots of gifts at holidays and birthdays, because they can afford to. It’s one way they show they love each other. You and me and Uncle Sam and Uncle Riley have different ways of showing that we love each other because there were a lot of years when we didn’t have enough money for lots of presents.”

Fuck, Bucky thinks. He hadn’t even thought of that, which goes a long way to demonstrating just how far Bucky’s privilege goes. Steve was just a teenager when he had Charlie. His ma had left a little money for him, but so much of it had gone into her cancer treatment, there hadn’t been much left for Steve. And raising any child, let alone a child with special needs, is expensive. And Charlie must have needed so much more than the typical child — in time and money. Bucky has no idea how Steve managed, all on his own all those years.

God, he’s such an asshole, to not even think about this stuff, about how they must have struggled, about what Bucky’s family home and all of these presents must have looked like to them. It had been something he hadn’t understood about Steve for a long time, when they were kids, and here he is repeating the same mistakes. 

“I don’t need presents to know you love me,” Charlie murmurs. She’s settling down now, cuddling into Steve with less desperation. 

“You’re a good pup,” Steve praises and Bucky’s heart aches, because she is. She’s so good. 

“I don’t want all those things,” Charlie mumbles, sitting up and looking at Steve. Bucky steps back a little, suddenly clear that this isn’t his space, not yet. This may be a part of Steve and Charlie he can never completely understand, but he knows that he wants to try. “I already got so many presents this year, ‘cause of your new job and from Dad and Uncle Sam and Uncle Riley. I don’t need so many things.” 

“We can donate some of them, okay? We’ll go through and decide which ones you really want to keep for you and the rest we’ll donate. We can bring some of the science kits to school, Ms. Silva would love that. And Shanika’s birthday is coming up, so we can choose some to give to her too.”

Charlie’s shoulders have completely relaxed now and she nods. “That’s a good idea, Papa.”

“I do try,” Steve says playfully, thumbing her nose. She grins up at him and wipes her face. 

Bucky clears his throat and steps into the room, not wanting to eavesdrop any longer. They both look up, identical surprise in their blue eyes. 

“Everything alright?” Bucky asks, coming a little closer, still clutching Charlie’s crutches in his now sweaty hands. 

“We’re okay,” Steve affirms. “It’s just been a pretty overwhelming night.”

“No kidding,” Bucky says with a smile. He leans Charlie’s crutches and grabs his own chair, sitting down beside them. “I’m sorry the gifts were so much. I think they just wanted to make up for lost time.”

“It’s okay,” Charlie says, voice still a little sniffly. “Papa explained. It’s just different than how we do things. Different isn’t bad.”

Bucky chokes up a little bit, an unexpected swell of emotion hitting him. God, he  _ loves  _ her. He suddenly can’t breathe for how much he loves her. 

“It isn’t,” Bucky says softly. “I’m still sorry we made you uncomfortable.”

“It’s okay, Dad,” she says, meeting his eyes earnestly. “Papa and I figured it out. We can donate the things I don’t need. Do you think they’d mind? If we did that?” Her eyes go wide with concern. 

“Aw, Charlie. Of course they wouldn’t mind. I think they’d feel real proud of you for making that decision. Not a lot of kids your age would do that. You’re being very generous.” 

She shrugs, ducking her head and hiding behind her hair, but Bucky can see her smiling and blushing. The love overwhelms him again. Is this what it’s going to be like all of the time? Just walking around with this huge feeling in his chest, all the time?

He thinks he can probably live with it, if it is. Maybe this is what being a parent feels like. 

“Can I give you a hug, honey?” he asks. 

“Uhuh,” she sighs, sliding forward on Steve’s lap a little. Bucky stands up and, on a whim, pulls them both into a hug, squeezing Charlie between his and Steve’s body and resting his arms around Steve’s slim back. After a moment, Steve’s arms come up and surround Bucky too. Bucky closes his eyes and lets himself breathe the moment in — their intermingling scents, Charlie’s soft curls against his cheek, Steve’s strong hands resting on his back. 

This is what he wants. This is what he wants more than anything else in the world. 

  
  
  
  



	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got the day right this time! This is the last chapter I have pre-written, so following chapters will not be on a schedule. We're looking at probably two, maybe three more. 
> 
> This chapter has not been beta-read, so please excuse any errors!

Charlie and Steve don’t stay much longer after her little meltdown — she’s clearly exhausted, yawning through the last couple of gifts and leaning heavily into Steve’s side.  

After she opens the last gift, Steve pipes up, “I think we should probably call it a night. We are approaching Charlie’s bedtime and it’s been a busy day.”

“Papa!” she complains, flushing pink. 

Bucky’s ma smiles. “Of course, honey. We understand. Do you two need a ride home?”

“Oh, no!” Steve says, eyes going wide. “No, we’re just going to catch an Uber, don’t worry about it.”

“Oh, you don’t need to do that!” Bucky’s ma says, sounding appalled. “George or Jamie can drive you back, you don’t need to pay for an Uber.”

“I’ll drive you,” Bucky volunteers immediately. 

“It takes nearly an hour to get to Mott Haven from here,” Steve protests. 

Bucky shakes his head, a little fond. “I’d like to drive the two of you. Plus, this time of night there won’t be any traffic.”

Steve screws up his lips and looks down at Charlie, who’s nuzzling his arm sleepily. With a sigh, he nods. “That would be great, thank you Bucky.”

Nate stands up, “I’ll starting bringing out some of this stuff to the car.” 

“Yeah, me too,” Tilly says. 

Steve thanks them, looking only a  _ little  _ uncomfortable for all the help. He coaxes Charlie up. “M’tired,” she mumbles as Steve hands over her crutches. “And my legs hurt.”

Bucky frowns, hating to see her hurting. When he’d done his research on Cerebral Palsy there’d been stuff about chronic pain, but Steve and Charlie have never mentioned it so he’s not spent a lot of time worrying about it. Hearing her mention pain sends a sharp burst of concern through him — he’s dealt with chronic pain long enough to know how  _ brutal  _ it can be and he honestly can’t think of anything worse than knowing his eight-year-old daughter deals with chronic pain. He swallows back the emotion welling up, putting it to the back of his mind. 

“I’m sorry, sweetie,” Steve says softly, brushing her hair back from her face. “Maybe Dad can carry you out, once you say goodnight to Winifred and George.” 

Steve glances up at Bucky, checking. Bucky nods, quickly adding, “Of course I can.”

“Okay,” she agrees through a yawn, turning towards Bucky’s parents. They’ve both got expressions of concern on their faces, but they quickly clear them as she approaches them. 

Bucky’s ma gives her a big smile that’s only a  _ little  _ teary. “Thank you for coming tonight, Charlie. We’re so glad you’re here.”

Charlie smiles, shy, and reaches up a cautious arm for a hug. Bucky’s ma immediately obliges, sweeping Charlie into her arms and giving her one of the trademark Freddie Barnes hugs. Charlie tentatively leans her weight into Bucky’s ma, though her hands are busy with her crutches. 

“We’re so happy to have finally met you, Charlie. And we’re so, so glad you’re going to be a part of our family. We already love you so much.” Bucky’s ma pulls back and gently pats Charlie’s cheek. “You look so much like your dad did when he was your age,” she adds softly. “Only much more beautiful.”

Charlie grins at the floor, showing off her single dimple. 

Bucky’s ma pulls back and his dad steps in. He’s a tall man and he crouches down so he can look Charlie in the eye. “I think Freddie said it all,” he says with a smile. “I’m just so glad we have a chance to know you. I hope we’ll see you again soon.”

Biting her lip, Charlie looks up at Steve. “Maybe they can come to Family Night at school,” she suggests and Bucky’s heart about falls out of his chest in joy. He looks up at Steve, wide-eyed and hopeful and so fucking glad that Charlie  _ wants  _ that. 

“I think that would work,” Steve says with a smile. “We’ll check with Ms. Silva to make sure you can bring more people, ‘cause I know Grandma Darlene and Uncle Sam are definitely coming.”

“Okay Papa,” she says through a yawn. 

“Alright,” Bucky’s ma says, clapping. “You two need to get home so Charlie can get some sleep. We’ll be in touch about another visit.”

“Sounds good,” Steve says. He comes in for his own hugs from Bucky’s parents. It makes Bucky glad to see — his parents had missed Steve all these years too, and he knew they’d worried endlessly about him. They had long ago accepted Steve as one of their own, a fact that Bucky has always appreciated. 

Pulling back, Steve says, “Alright, let’s go get your coat on, honey and then we can head home, alright?”

Bucky’s ma insists on boxing up some latkes and sufganiyot before they leave, but they do eventually make it to the door. Charlie sleepily allows Steve to put her coat on. Bucky shrugs on his own coat and takes the time to lace his boots up properly — he is not going to trip down the stairs while he’s holding his daughter.

“Bucky are you sure you’re good to carry Charlie out to the car?” Steve asks, zipping up his own coat. “It’s a little icy.”

“Of course,” Bucky affirms. “That okay with you Charlie?”

“Uh huh,” she mumbles, rubbing an eye. Steve takes her crutches, letting her lean on his arm while Bucky comes toward them. 

Bucky scoops her up, warning her as he does, and settles her bridal style in his arms. Just like the other night, it sends a deep feeling of paternal affection and connection flowing through him. He watches as she closes her eyes and rests her head on his left shoulder, relaxing into his arms. 

When he looks up, his ma is wiping tears away. Steve’s expression, glancing between them, is complicated, eyebrows folded into a v and lips twisted, but eyes soft and warm. Bucky doesn’t know how to interpret it. He decides not to try, knowing he’ll only drive himself crazy that way. 

Steve holds the door, clearly doing his best not to hover, and Bucky carefully makes his ways down the stairs. It’s a little slick and Charlie’s legs keep twitching unexpectedly, but Bucky makes it down safely. The family car is just half a block down and by the time they reach it, Nate and Tilly have already finished piling the presents into the trunk of their faded old sedan. 

Bucky carefully sets Charlie down on her feet and watches as Steve gets her situated in the back seat. She whines a little about her legs and Bucky’s heart aches. 

God, he hates that she has pain. He hates that he can’t  _ do  _ anything about her pain. This isn’t something he can fix. 

Steve says goodbye to Nate and Tilly while Bucky’s brain gets louder. He hasn’t processed anything that’s happened tonight and it’s been a lot, he now recognizes. This was a big night with a lot of emotion tied up into it. He knows he has to give himself time and space to work through it all — but the night’s not over yet. He climbs into the car and programs Steve’s address into his GPS. 

It’s just past nine, late enough that the rush hour traffic is well and truly done but before the nightlife traffic really sets in. 

“Tonight was really nice,” Steve says after a couple minutes. The space in the car is warm and still, sort of fuzzy.  _ Transcendent _ , Bucky thinks a little hysterically. Cars are a strange place for him now, ever since his accident. He wasn’t behind the wheel then — if he was he’d be dead or in jail — but his system still bristles with danger alerts when he climbs into a car, no matter if he’s driving or not. 

And now, well. He glances in the mirror. Now he’s got precious cargo. Now nothing matters more than arriving safely at his destination. Charlie’s already most of the way asleep, conked out against the window. 

“It was,” Bucky agrees belatedly. “I’m really glad you guys came. It was real special, to have you both there.”

“Yeah,” Steve says on a sigh. Bucky glances at him out of the corner of his eyes — his face is sad, almost wistful. 

They fall silent again. Around them the city is loud and busy, like it always is, but inside the car a sort of stillness falls. Bucky can hear Charlie’s soft breathing, he can smell her and Steve, all of their scents mingling into something new. 

Bucky’s brain starts to swirl, running over the evening again and again. He thinks about Charlie’s discomfort using her wheelchair in front of his family. He thinks about  _ Dad? Did they mind? When you lost your arm?  _ He thinks about  _ They don’t need to buy me lots of things to make me like them!  _ He thinks about  _ my legs hurt.  _

He clears his throat, heart pounding and head spinning. “Does Charlie have pain a lot?” he asks softly. 

Steve breathes out a long sigh. “Yeah,” he admits. “It’s not bad, most of the time. Just think like a tight muscle, y’know. But sometimes the muscles get really tense and contract, when she’s particularly spastic. Which can happen for lots of reasons, or no reason at all. Today was just — she was on her feet a lot. We always try to go for a walk in the morning and that  _ plus  _ not using her chair tonight was just…” Steve trails off. Pushing his hair off his forehead, Steve adds, “So yeah, she has pain a lot.”

Bucky’s hands tighten on the steering wheel until he feels the metal arm start to compress it, at which point he quickly loosens his grip. “How do you guys manage it?”

“A lot of it’s preventative, to be honest. Keeping her active, stretching, like that.”

“Does she do okay?” Bucky asks, unable to help the way his voice quavers a little. He can feel Steve’s gaze on him, studying him. Recalling his pledge to be more honest about his struggles, Bucky makes himself add, “Emotionally, I mean. I have a lot of chronic pain, with my arm. I mean, it’s not as bad as it used to be. I just know how hard it can be — I hate to think of her having to deal with that. She’s so young.”

“Oh,” Steve breathes. He doesn’t say  _ sorry  _ or get awkward. Steve has chronic pain too, Bucky remembers and then gives himself a mental smack for forgetting. Whether it’s his lungs or his joints, some part of Steve hurts most days. “Yeah,” he continues. “Yeah, I hate it too. She’s — she deals with what life has given her,” Steve says. “Sometimes she gets mad about it,  _ why me  _ sort of stuff, y’know. But mostly she just gets on with it.”

Bucky nods, though he aches inside. He knows what that’s like and he hates that she knows it too. 

They fall quiet again, stillness settling over them like a blanket. 

“Um,” Steve says softly, after several long minutes. For a second, Bucky doesn’t think he’s going to continue, but eventually he breathes out and says, “I’ve been thinking. I miss our Saturdays together, just the two of us. Not that I don’t want to see you with Charlie too, it’s just...I miss you.”

Bucky’s heart trembles in his chest. 

“I miss you too,” he agrees. “And I think — there are things we don’t understand about each other, now. Nine years is a long time. I want to hear about it — all of it. I know —” Bucky stops, hesitating over his next words. “I can guess that things must have been really hard for you. I want to hear about that, if you’d like to share it with me.” Bucky keeps his eyes fixed on the road, not letting himself look at Steve or try and guess what he’s thinking. Bucky can only lay himself on the line and hope that Steve will too. 

“Yeah,” Steve breathes after a long minute. “Yeah, I think that would be good. I want to hear about your hard times too. If you want to talk about them.”

Bucky sighs, shoulders relaxing. “I’d like that.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Steve nod. “Maybe after New Year’s,” Steve says. “I know things are pretty crazy this time of year and I don’t think Charlie would permit me to see you without her,” his tone invites a laugh, so Bucky does, even as he heart clenches in his chest. She wants to be near him, she wants to be with him. It makes him happier than he can say every time he realizes it. “Saturdays are still good, if that works for you. Charlie goes swimming with Riley in the afternoon, so I always have a little time.”

“That works for me,” Bucky agrees. And then, changing the subject, asks, “How long have she and Riley been swimming together?”

“Oh, hmm. It’s been a long time, since she was pretty little. Riley got hurt in 2012 and that’s when he came back stateside. It was about a year after that they started doing it regularly. He was doing it for his PT and thought it might help her, so he started taking her to lessons at the Y. It’s been really good for her.”

“That’s awesome,” Bucky says, looking in the rearview mirror at his sleeping daughter. “She’s pretty amazing.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, a wealth of love in his voice. Bucky feels it echoed in his own body and he almost can’t believe how much he already loves her. The extent of his love seems to expand with every moment. 

Quiet falls over the car again and Bucky focuses on navigating through the streets. They’re not far from Steve and Charlie’s place now. 

“I was wondering,” Steve says, when they’re only about five minutes out. “Sam and Riley and I always do a sort of quiet New Year’s thing at home. I was thinking that maybe you and Clint and Natasha could join us? It’ll be at Sam and Riley’s place in Harlem. Charlie goes to Sam’s mom’s place, to celebrate with Sam’s niblings who are her age — Darlene does this whole big thing for them, they have an incredible time. So it’ll just be us and Kiara. My friends Peggy and Angie sometimes stop in, but we haven’t heard for sure yet. Angie’s heat is due around then, so…”

“I’d love to join you,” Bucky’s says, heart in his throat. “We don’t usually do anything all that exciting either.” Bucky stops, then reminds himself that Steve already knows he’s an alcoholic and adds, “There’s always a lot of booze at parties. Plus Clint doesn’t do so good in loud spaces, with his hearing aids and all.”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Steve says, easy as anything. Steve hasn’t made him feel bad about the alcoholism even once, Bucky thinks. He’s never doubted Bucky, not even with Charlie, and most people tend to get opinionated about alcoholics being around kids, even if there’s no history of violence or anything. They just get treated like unsavory people, a lot of the time. But Steve’s never once acted that way. “We usually have beer and stuff, but I don’t drink ‘cause of my meds. If it would be easier for you, we could definitely make it dry.”

Speaking through a knot of emotion, Bucky says, “No, it’s alright. It’s just going to bars or big parties, where other people are getting hammered, y’know? It doesn’t bother me if someone has a couple beers while I’m around.” 

He glances over and spots Steve nodding understandingly. Flipping on his turn signal, Bucky guides the car onto Steve and Charlie’s street. Their apartment is about halfway down, but Bucky takes the first parking spot he sees, knowing how New York parking is. 

“I can carry her in,” Bucky offers as he turns the car off. He turns to look at Steve properly. Steve nods and offers a grateful smile. 

“That would be great. We might have to do a couple trips for the gifts, but let’s get her in first.” 

Steve helps Bucky lift her out of the car and then they slowly make their way down the sidewalk, snow and ice crunching underfoot. Unlocking the doors, Steve lets them into the apartment. Bucky lets Steve turn on the lights before winding his way back to her bedroom and gently laying her down on her bed. 

Like last time, Bucky slips out of the room so Steve can change her clothes. Bucky heads back to the car, piling up as many gifts as he can manage. He doesn’t think about getting back in again until he gets to the door, but luckily Steve is waiting for him and lets him in. 

“I’ll grab the last couple?” Steve asks as Bucky sets the gifts down on the coffee table. “If you’ll stay here with her?”

Bucky nods, handing the keys over. After he hears the door close, he makes his way back to Charlie’s room. Steve’s left the door open a jar. Quietly, Bucky pushes it open just a little bit, just enough to see her face, bathed in the light coming in from the window. She’s fast asleep, curled up on her side. 

Bucky thinks he could stand there all night, just watching her breathe. Just knowing she’s here, in the world. His mind drifts over the evening, thinking about her surrounded by their family. For a minute, he lets himself dream about the future; her there for all the major holidays and birthdays and for Friday night dinner, Bucky’s whole family at her basketball games, cheering her on, family nights and graduations and maybe a Bat Mitzvah, if she wants, all of them together, a family. 

And Steve with them too. The both of them in her life and in each other’s lives and maybe, just maybe, somewhere down the line Steve will let Bucky love him. Maybe one day, they’ll be mates. They’ll all live together in an apartment or a house that they can renovate for Charlie. Maybe Steve would be willing to have more pups — babies that Bucky can raise right alongside Steve. 

He hears the front door open, but he doesn’t move. After a minute he feels Steve coming up to him. They stand next to each other, elbows touching, for a long moment, not saying anything. 

“Thank you for tonight,” Bucky says softly, not taking his eyes off Charlie’s sleeping face. “It really meant a lot to me, that you guys were there.”

“It meant a lot to us too,” Steve says softly. His voice is a little tight, a little upset. Bucky turns to look at him, frowning. 

“Steve?”

Steve shakes his head, lips twisted. He opens his mouth once, twice, then closes it and shakes his head again. “Not tonight,” he finally says. “I don’t want to —” he cuts himself off, hands twitching restlessly. “Not tonight,” he repeats. “We’ll talk soon — about all of it.”

Bucky studies him intently, noting the familiar, stubborn set to his jaw, the quiver in his bottom lip, the crease between his eyebrows. He doesn’t push. “Okay,” he says with a nod. 

Steve turns to him and leans in for a hug. Happily, Bucky wraps his arm around him, pulling his slim body closer. Steve buries his face in Bucky’s neck, scenting. Following Steve’s example, Bucky tucks his head into Steve, pressing against his scent gland. 

Steve sighs out, breath puffing against Bucky’s skin. Bucky’s arms tighten reflexively. 

He doesn’t know how long they stand there, holding each other outside their daughter’s room. A long time, Bucky thinks, but not nearly long enough. Steve pulls back slowly, not meeting Bucky’s eyes. 

“I’ll text you about New Year’s,” Steve says.

“Sure, sounds good,” Bucky says agreeably. He lets Steve show him to the door. 

They both hesitate, staring at each other. Bucky wants to kiss him. Bucky wants to stay here and never leave. He wants to be there in the morning when Charlie wakes up and make her chocolate chip pancakes the way Bucky’s dad does. 

Instead he smiles and says goodnight, slips out the door, and leaves. 

*

A week later, Bucky hesitantly presses the buzzer for apartment #104. Sam and Riley’s place is in one of the newer buildings on the street, with shiny new buzzers for each apartment. Natasha and Clint are behind him, all of them bundled up into their warmest winter gear — the New Year is hitting with temperatures in the single digits and absurd wind chills. Bucky’s shoulder hadn’t stopped aching in days, leading him to leave his prosthetic off tonight, a decision which he’s now regretting. 

The door gives a loud buzz, making Bucky jump and he rushes forward to open it. By the time Natasha, Clint, and he finish stomping the snow off their boots and make their way out of the entry, Steve’s waiting at the door of one of the apartments, wearing a slightly oversized sweater, slim jeans, and cozy looking socks. Bucky wants to tug him close and breathe him in and never let him go. 

“Reign it in, big guy,” Clint signs with a laugh and Bucky does his best to tamp down on his alpha urges, aware that his pheromones are probably spilling all over the place. Steve gives them a friendly wave and Bucky forces himself to take a deep breath before they head over. 

“Hey!” Steve calls when they’re in range, and his hands start to move too. “Did you guys find it all right?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky sees Clint’s eyebrows go up in surprise at Steve’s signing and Bucky pats himself on the back for remembering to text Steve and let him know about Clint’s preference for sign  _ and  _ speech. 

“Yep. Fancy place!” Bucky says. 

“More accessible,” Steve explains, standing up straight and letting them into the apartment. There’s a little entrance hall where they all kick off their boots and hang up their jackets. Even there, Bucky sees evidence of accessibility in the wide hallway and low door jams. Bucky struggles with his coat and he sees when Steve realizes that he’s not wearing his prosthetic. His eyes go a little wide, but he doesn’t offer to help. 

Long enough with Charlie and Riley, Bucky thinks appreciatively, to know to let Bucky ask if he wants it and not assume that he can’t do something. 

While Bucky deals with his jacket, Steve greets Clint and Natasha, hands flying as he does. That leads to a short discussion about where Steve learned to sign and by the time that’s wrapping up, Bucky’s managed to get out of both his coat and shoes. 

“C’mon in,” Steve invites. “I’ll introduce you all to Riley and Sam. Peggy and Angie are on their way, but they have to stop by another party, so they’ll be a while.”

Steve leads them into a roomy, open living room. Like at Steve’s place, it lacks rugs and there’s plenty of room around all of the furniture, for maneuverability. Sam hops off the couch when they come in, smiling broadly. Riley follows a little more slowly, and they both come forward for introductions. Neither of them stare at Bucky’s arm. He can see them notice and then purposefully move on from it. 

Steve’s friends are refreshing. Bucky’s never spent much time with other people who have physical disabilities. Even as an engineer on the Stark Prosthetics project, Bucky dealt less with the patients than other members of his team. 

Introductions out of the way, Sam volunteers to get everyone a drink. Steve offers to help, leaving Bucky and his friends to settle on the squishy couches and armchairs. 

“Thanks for coming,” Riley says. He casually turns his body so he’s mostly facing Clint, making sure Clint can see his mouth, and Bucky blinks back a swell of emotion. They make it all seem so easy.  

“Thanks for having us,” Natasha responds, tone cool but casual, the way she always is with new people. 

There’s a couple moments of stilted silence before Riley asks Natasha about what she does for Stark Industries, and before they know it chat is flowing freely. Sam and Steve soon return with beers for Sam and Clint, white wine for Natasha, and sparkling cider for the rest of them. 

Riley rolls his eyes as he takes his. “I love Kiara dearly, but I will be happy when I’m not breastfeeding anymore,” he says, making everyone laugh. Briefly, Bucky’s eyes flit to Steve, wondering if he breastfed Charlie. On Riley’s muscular frame, the swelling of his pecs is barely noticeable. That wouldn’t have been the case on Steve’s skinny chest. 

“How old is Kiara?” Natasha asks, and the conversations winds on from there. 

To Bucky’s chagrin, he finds that he really likes Sam and Riley, despite all his jealousy. The night after Steve and Charlie had visited, Bucky had lain awake for hours, thinking and rethinking. And while he finds that he’s still immensely jealous of their place in Charlie’s life, he’s also grateful to anyone who could have made Steve’s life a little easier and anyone who gave their love and support to Charlie so freely. 

It’s surprisingly easy, blending the two friendship groups together. Everyone seems to get on really well, conversation flowing and laughter filling the room. It only gets better when Steve’s friends Peggy and Angie show up. Angie is a whirlwind of energy, talking a mile a minute about the broadway production she’s in, while Peggy and Natasha strike up an easy friendship. 

Around eleven they’re interrupted by a cry from the baby monitor, and Riley disappears down the hallway to see to Kiara. Sam and Clint go to get another beer, while the three women speak in quiet tones over snacks Riley and Sam had provided. ‘

“Um,” Steve says softly, turning to look at Bucky. “I have something for you…” he trails off, biting his lip. “Could you maybe come into the other room?”

“Sure,” Bucky says, keeping his voice easy even as his heart start to race in his chest. He shuts down his thoughts, knowing that he’ll just catastrophize and follows Steve deeper into the apartment. 

“This is the guestroom,” Steve narrates, flicking a light on and waving Bucky in. The room is clearly set up with Charlie in mind, with a slightly lower than normal bed, plenty of floorspace, and some low, open -faced shelves holding some of her clothing. There’s a bag and a couple wrapped packages on the bed, which is where Steve takes a seat. 

Cautiously, Bucky sits down beside him, keeping his good side to Steve. Steve picks up one of the packages and quickly checks the tag before handing it over. Bucky rests it in his lap and starts to tug on the wrapping. It feels like a book and he thinks he might know what it is. 

“I was just thinking, y’know, that you said you wanted some photos of Charlie when she was growing up, so…” Steve mutters as Bucky finally gets the paper off. He flips the photo album so he can see it properly. It’s one of those with a little photo on the front, a beaming picture of Charlie in this case. 

“Oh,” Bucky says softly, stroking the cover. He takes a deep breath. He wants to see it, he wants to hear all the stories that go with the pictures, but he knows it’s going to hurt too. Seeing all those parts of Charlie’s life that he missed, never being present in any of the photos, it’s going to press on all the tender parts of Bucky’s relationship with his daughter. 

“I put one together for your parents too, but this one’s a little different — “

Steve cuts himself off as Bucky turns to the first page and gasps. The first picture is of a tiny infant, hooked up to endless tubes, so frail it looks like her skin could rip at the slightest pressure. It’s Charlie, Bucky knows it’s Charlie, but somehow he can’t believe it. He doesn’t  _ want  _ to believe it. Bucky touches one finger to her tiny face and blinks, finding his eyes burning. 

“I know it’s a lot,” Steve whispers. “And I didn’t put them in your parents’ album, but I thought...you said you wanted to know the hard things.”

“I did,” Bucky gasps. “I do. I just didn’t — I’ve never seen a baby so small.”

“The doctors didn’t think she’d make it,” Steve admits and Bucky’s heart cracks at the very thought of it, even though he knows that she’s fine now — more than fine, she’s perfect: healthy and cheerful and enthusiastic about life. “She was in the NICU for months. The home made me go to school everyday once it started up again, and then after I’d go to the hospital and sit next to her while I did my homework.”

Bucky shakes his head, unable to imagine being a teenager and having to deal with all that. Fuck, to still have to worry about school and homework while your daughter lay in the hospital? Bucky doesn’t think he could have managed it. 

Carefully, Steve flips the page. Bucky’s hand flies up to cover his mouth, holding back a sob. This picture shows Charlie, trailing wires and tubes, curled up against Steve’s skinny chest, both of them hidden under a blanket. The expression on Steve’s face takes Bucky’s breath away. He looks enraptured and exhausted, like he can’t imagine a more perfect moment. 

“That was the first time I got to hold her,” Steve explains. “A nurse took the picture for me.”

Because Steve wouldn’t have had anyone to go with him, Bucky realizes and feels like he might puke. There’d been no one to comfort Steve or offer advice, nobody to hold him if he was afraid or celebrate with him when the good news came. 

“For a long time they talked about taking her away from me. I had to prove that I could be a good enough parent to take care of her. No one thought a teenager could manage it.” With the tip of his finger, Steve strokes her face. “After she got out of the NICU, we were all real worried about her immune system. Babies that little can get sick so easily, y’know? She came home around Christmas time and she seemed to be doing okay in the house. So when school started up, I took her to all my classes. I wouldn’t let anyone tell me I couldn’t.”

Bucky turns to really look at him, awed but not surprised. Because of course that’s what Steve had done, of course he had fought for exactly what he thought was right. 

“Once she was a little stronger, she went to the daycare at the high school,” Steve continues, voice a little fuzzy, like he’s deep in memory. 

Bucky takes his hand and squeezes it. Steve swallows tightly and squeezes back. 

Together, they flip through the next few pages. It’s strange to pass through months of Charlie’s life in mere minutes, but at the same time, it’s joyous, seeing her grow before his very eyes. It’s hard to watch months of her life happen in the same hospital rooms.  _ Months,  _ Steve had said. God, he can’t imagine. 

As she grows, there are more and more pictures of Riley holding her, which makes Bucky’s jealousy roar to life. At the same time, he feels a sort of fondness for Riley settle into his bones. Riley was there with Steve. Steve had someone, at least. 

There’s one picture of Charlie nursing. Steve’s sitting on his bed, shirt doffed. In one arm he has Charlie, with the other he’s highlighting a textbook. That would have been his life, Bucky thinks. Steve wouldn’t have had any time for himself. 

Steve catches that he’s hesitating on it and blushes a little. “Sorry, I just thought you might —. Um. We can take that one out and put something else in…” Steve trails off, going to slip the photo out of it’s protective sleeve. 

Bucky grabs his hand, stopping him. “No, don’t. I like that photo.”

Steve blushes harder and Bucky feels his own cheeks pinking. Steve bit his lip, glancing up with a question in his eyes. Bucky swallows, trying to come up with the words to explain. 

“The things I missed,” he starts. “It’s not all about her. I missed — “ Bucky stops, unsure. But Steve’s eyes are steady and patient, curious and accepting. “I missed seeing you, too,” he admits. “Seeing you pregnant with her, smelling you after, seeing you feed her...I would’ve wanted all of that.”

Steve scoffs a little, shaking his head. “Trust me, it wasn’t all that pretty.” He turns his face down and away. 

“Hey,” Bucky says softly, tugging on Steve’s hand until he turns to look back at him. “It’s not about pretty, I just...you were carrying my baby. There couldn’t have been anything more beautiful in the world.”

Steve’s cheeks flame red. He clears his throat and quickly turns the page. 

After her first birthday (a wonderful picture of a chubby-cheeked Charlie smashing her baby fist into a piece of cake), the pictures start to feature casts and braces. When Steve’s in the picture, he always looks exhausted and worried. 

“When was she diagnosed?” Bucky asks quietly. 

“A little after her first birthday. The doctors suspected before then, but they didn’t want to confirm it yet. She was way behind on most of her milestones,” Steve explains. “But they said that was pretty normal, given how premature she was…” Steve trails off, frowning down at a picture of Charlie laying on her stomach, propped up on her forearms. 

“It must have been hard,” Bucky cautiously adds. “Getting that diagnosis and dealing with all of that when you were just a kid yourself.”

For a long moment, Steve doesn’t say anything. 

“It was,” he finally admits, hardship that Bucky’s sure Steve doesn’t want to acknowledge. Steve has never admitted when things were hard, has never complained about the many, many blows life has dealt him. Bucky takes his hand again and stays silent, letting Steve have the space to save more. 

“It was...she was so little and so sick,” Steve murmurs, his voice gone tight. “I didn’t know what to do. The doctors kept saying not to hope and I wasn’t doin’ well either. It was...it was terrifying.”

Bucky’s eyes burn and he blinks quickly. He can’t cry, not now. Later, when he’s alone. Right now he just needs to hold what Steve is giving him. 

“The people at the home were alright. And they had lots of experience with new parents, y’know, cause a lot of teen omegas end up in homes, after… But it was really just me and her. I’d never even really held a baby, except Nathan and Tilly. And there wasn’t any money and there wasn’t any time and she just needed so much from me.” Steve rubs his hands over his face, looking exhausted just remembering it. 

“You did such a good job, Steve. She’s such a wonderful kid. And she seems so healthy now.”

Steve nods a little. “That’s new,” he sighs. “For years it was surgeries and PT appointments and devices we couldn’t afford and applying to charities for equipment…” 

Bucky squeezes Steve’s hand a little tighter. He holds back the questions about why Steve didn’t just contact Bucky’s family, who would have helped him without question. 

“She wasn’t walking ‘til she was nearly five, and I was working two jobs. Sometimes three. She qualified for services and stuff, but it wasn’t nearly enough. It was never enough.” 

Unable to stand it, Bucky wraps and arm around Steve and pulls him a little closer. He can’t take away the hardships of those years. He can’t go back and change it, make life easier for Steve and Charlie, as much as he wishes he could. He can’t even really make things easier for them now, not until Steve lets him in. In this moment, it doesn’t feel like there’s anything to do but hold Steve. He’s a little worried Steve won’t even let him do that, but Steve leans his weight into Bucky and a little tension slips out of his slim shoulders. 

“And then Riley got hurt overseas and he came back to DC. He was in the hospital for a long time, but once he got out he came to live with us.” Steve flips to a new page, turns the book to show Bucky a picture. Charlie, probably no more than five or six, is perched on Riley’s lap. The stump of his leg hangs out the bottom of gym shorts, still softly bandaged. 

Bucky remembers the early days of losing his arm — how hard everything seemed, how much help he still needed, how angry he was at everyone and anyone, the exhausting PT and OT and just  _ all  _ of it. Bucky tries to imagine if he’d moved in with Steve and Charlie during that part of his life. He wouldn’t have been any help at all. And maybe Riley’d been better than Bucky had, in his own early days, but that was still a lot for Steve to take on. 

“That must have been hard in it’s own way,” Bucky says softly, giving Steve a little squeeze.

Steve closes his eyes and nods. “Yeah, yeah it was. And then Sam came to live with us too. And that was — well. He was having a really hard time.”

Bucky frowns, having trouble imagining that. Sam’s always so smiley and up-beat when Bucky sees him. But the, Bucky realizes, he hasn’t really made an effort to get to know Sam and Riley. There’s probably plenty that Bucky doesn’t know about them. 

“You all lived together for a long time, huh?” he asks, watching as Steve flips the page, coming to a picture of all four of them crowded onto a couch, smiling at the camera. The three men all look tired, but happy, and Charlie’s got two casts on her legs. Bucky reaches out to touch the image of the bright green casts. He’d read, when he’d done his research, that kids with CP often needed a lot of surgery and other medical interventions. He doesn’t know how much Charlie’s had to do, though. It suddenly feels like a very important thing to know. 

“Yeah,” Steve answers, bringing Bucky back to his original question. “Yeah, we lived together until just a couple months before we ran into each other again, actually. They helped me take care of Charlie and all while I was at school. I owe them a lot.”

Bucky squeezes Steve a little tighter, ducks his head to hide his expression in Steve’s hair. He wishes he could have been there, that he could have taken care of Charlie and helped Steve with rent and bills and all of it while Steve did school. But he wasn’t, and there’s no use crying over spilled milk. 

“I’m glad you had them,” Bucky says, finding that the words are 100% honest this time. He really is glad that Steve had Riley and Sam all those years. 

He feels Steve nod and then pull away a little. Bucky glances down, meeting his eyes. They’re red, but there’s no evidence of tears. Bucky’s not surprised. Steve doesn’t cry easy, not like him. He meets Steve’s gaze and attempts a smile, gratitude and grief and longing and pleasure swirl hopelessly together in his stomach. He’s so glad he’s here, that he has this chance to know Steve and his daughter. And he’s so sad that he missed so much. 

And Steve is just so beautiful and smells so much like  _ home  _ and  _ safety _ and Bucky just wants to kiss him so bad he almost can’t stand it. 

Steve leans in, his eyes dipping down. Bucky hardly dares to breathe as he moves in a little closer. And then they’re kissing — properly, the way they haven’t done since the night Charlie was conceived. God, to think of that night, of the imperfect, awkward fumblings of teenagers being the start of his amazing daughter’s life is bittersweet and somehow shocking. 

His eyes drift close, he breathes in deep through his nose, taking in the heady scent of Steve. He rubs his one hand down Steve’s back, takes hold of his hip, and loses himself in the moment. 

Too soon, Steve pulls back, breathing a little quick. He leans his forehead against Bucky’s bad shoulder and Bucky loses the ability to breathe properly, aware of how close Steve is to the most vulnerable part of him. Steve doesn’t even seem to notice, doesn’t seem to think any differently of Bucky with or without his arm. 

“Steve…” he starts, half afraid to break the moment and lose Steve all over again. 

“I was so afraid,” Steve whispers. “I was so afraid for so long. Too afraid to call you or tell you about Charlie. And then, after, too afraid that I’d lose you all over again if I let myself…”

Bucky bites his lip, doesn’t ask  _ let yourself what?  _

“I don’t want to be afraid anymore.”

“You don’t have to be afraid,” Bucky says. Hesitantly he lifts his hand to stroke Steve’s hair, presses a kiss to his temple. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m not losing either of you ever again. I’m not letting go, okay? I’m right here. I’m right here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, niblings is a gender neutral word for nieces and nephews.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](https://icoulddthisallday.tumblr.com) if that's your thing.


End file.
